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;>  • 

S'. 


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PELHAM'S  VISIT  TO  THE  BREAKFAST-TAIil.E  OF  THE  REV.  COMBER- 
MERE  ST.  QUINITN. 


Pelham. 


2ri)f  Uptton  lEtiittcin 


PELHAM 

OR 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


BY 

SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LITTON,  BART. 


Je  SUIS  PEU  S^viRE,  MATS  SAGE  — 

Philosophe,  MAIS  AMOUREUX  — 

Mon  art  est  de  me  rendre  heureux. 

J’Y  r£uSSIS  — EN  FAUT-IL  ©’ADVANTAGE?” 

“ A COMPLETE  GENTLEMAN,  WHO,  ACCORDING  TO  SIR  FOPLING,  OUGHT  TO 
DRESS  WELL,  DANCE  WELL,  FENCE  WELL,  HAVE  A GENIUS  FOR  LOVE-LETTERS, 
AND  AN  AGREEABLE  VOICE  FOR  A CHAMBER.”  — Elkeregc. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B,  LIPPINCOTT  & CO, 
1875. 


w 


i/T^naa^T 


.'•>•:’<■•  I i.-'i 


MUiwraao  1 ?.o;  ^LiiuTVEam^'  B 

• ^ 

',  ■'■'  '"'..'■vvr?:  , ' .,  • ' •-  ■ 


. .:K  ' 
;>[»■',’  ■.  . ' ■- 


V /■  ’'■  at  V; 

■ , ,;^.  r^xt^U''Ur*:>iA«ivnrV^rcarf(,T^^^ 

, ■ - iflaVwf.;!  ;iT*.!i#f  T*o  WJrwwiti'r'r^lSw^^^S 

' ,^'‘ ; : yr.i  ^ ' • 

,r/»  it'ta;.crFf^njr ^ 

^krwtp^oti  ‘Sti'^'tM.i'.^iJf  A ' ''  ^Wi  ^ K ‘Vf.'"! 


>.;■ 


sa3 


PREFACE 

TO 

THE  EDITION  OF  1828.* 


I BELIEVE  if  we  were  to  question  every  author 
upon  the  subject  of  his  literary  grievances,  we  should 
find  that  the  most  frequent  of  all  complaints,  was  less 
. that  of  being  unappreciated,  than  that  of  being  mis- 
Ni  understood.  All  of  us  write  perhaps  with  some  secret 
• object,  for  which  the  world  cares  not  a straw : and 
while  each  reader  fixes  his  peculiar  moral  upon  a 
book,  no  one,  by  any  chance,  hits  ^ upon  that  which 
the  author  had  in  his  own  heart  designed  to  inculcate. 
Hence  this  Edition  of  Pelham  acquires  that  ap- 
pendage in  the  shape  of  an  explanatory  preface  which 
the  unprescient  benevolence  of  the  author  did  not 
^ inflict  on  his  readers  when  he  first  confided  his  work 
to  their  candor  and  discretion.  Even  so,  some  Can- 
didate for  Parliamentary  Honors  first  braves  the 
hustings ; — relying  only  on  the  general  congeniality 
of  sentiment  between  himself  and  the  Electors  — but 

* Viz.,  the  Second  Edition. 

I*  (T) 


vi 


PREFACE  TO  THE 


alas ! once  cliosen,  the  liberal  confidence,  which  look 
him  upon  trust  is  no  more,  and  when  he  reappears 
to  commend  himself  to  the  popular  suffrage,  he  is 
required  to  go  into  the  ill-bred  egotisms  of  detail  — 
and  explain  all  that  he  has  done  and  all  that  he  has 
failed  to  do,  to  the  satisfaction  of  an  enlightened  but 
too  inquisitive  constituency. 

It  is  a beautiful  part  in  the  economy  of  this  world, 
that  nothing  is  without  its  use ; every  weed  in  the 
great  thoroughfares  of  life  has  a honey,  which  Obser- 
vation can  easily  extract;  and  we  may  glean  no 
unimportant  wisdom  from  Folly  itself,  if  we  distin- 
guish while  we  survey,  and  satirize  while  we  share 
it.  It  is  in  this  belief  that  these  volumes  have  their 
origin.  I have  not  been  willing  that  even  the  com- 
mon-places of  society  should  afford  neither  a record 
nor  a moral ; and  it  is  therefore  from  the  common- 
places of  society  that  the  materials  of  this  novel  have 
been  wrought.  By  treating  trifles  naturally,  they 
may  be  rendered  amusing,  and  that  which  adherence 
to  Nature  renders  amusing,  the  same  cause  also  may 
render  instructive : for  Nature  is  the  source  of  all 
morals,  and  the  enchanted  well,  from  which  not  a 
single  drop  can  be  taken,  that  has  not  the  power  of 
curing  some  of  our  diseases. 

I have  drawn  for  the  hero  of  my  Work^  such  a 
person  as  seemed  to  me  best  fitted  to  retail  the  opin- 


EDITION  OF  1828. 


vil 


ions  and  customs  of  the  class  and  age  to  v;hich  he 
belongs;  a personal  combination  of  antitheses  — a 
fop  and  a philosopher,  a voluptuary  and  a moralist 
— a trifler  in  appearance,  but  rather  one  to  whom 
trifles  are  instructive,  than  one  to  whom  trifles  are 
natural  — an  Aristippus  on  a limited  scale,  accus- 
tomed to  draw  sage  conclusions  from  the  follies  he 
adopts,  and  while  professing  himself  a votary  of 
Pleasure,  desirous  in  reality  to  become  a disciple  of 
Wisdom.  Such  a character  I have  found  it  more 
diflicult  to  portray  than  to  conceive : I have  found  it 
more  difBcult  still,  because  I have  with  it  nothing  in 
common,*  except  the  taste  for  observation,  and  some 
experience  in  the  scenes  among  which  it  has  been 
cast ; and  it  will  readily  be  supposed  that  it  is  no 
easy  matter  to  survey  occurrence^  the  most  familiar 
through  a vision,  as  it  were,  essentially  and  perpetu- 
ally different  from  that  through  which  oneself  has 
been  accustomed  to  view  them.  This  difficulty  in 
execution  will  perhaps  be  my  excuse  in  failure ; and 


* I regret  extremely  that  by  this  remark  I should  be  necessitated 
to  relinquish  the  flattering  character  I have  for  so  many  months 
borne,  and  to  undeceive  not  a few  of  my  most  indulgent  critics, 
who  in  reviewing  my  work  have  literally  considered  the  Author 
and  the  Hero  one  flesh.  “We  have  only,”  sa^d  one  of  them,  “to 
complain  of  the  Author’s  egotisms;  he  is  perpetually  talking  of 
himself!” — Poor  gentleman!  from  the  first  page  to  the  last,  the 
Author  never  utters  a syllable. — [The  few  marginal  notes  in  which 
the  Author  himself  speaks,  were  not  added  till  the  present  Edition.] 


viii 


PREFACE  TO  THE 


some  additional  indulgence  may  be  reasonably  granted 
to  an  author  who  has  rarely  found  in  the  egotisms  of 
his  hero  a vent  for  his  own. 

With  the  generality  of  those  into  whose/ hands  a 
novel  upon  manners  is  likely  to  fall,  the  lighter  and 
less  obvious  the  method  in  which  reflection  is  con- 
veyed, the  grea.ter  is  its  chance  to  be  received  without 
distaste  and  remembered  without  aversion.  This  will 
be  an  excuse,  perhaps,  for  the  appearance  of  frivolities 
not  indulged  for  the  sake  of  the  frivolity ; under  that 
which  has  most  the  semblance  of  levity  I have  often 
been  the  most  diligent  in  my  endeavors  to  inculcate 
the  substances  of  truth.  The  shallowest  stream, 
whose  bed  every  passenger  imagines  he  surveys,  may 
deposit  some  golden  grains  on  the  plain  through 
which  it  flows ; and  we  may  weave  flowers  not  only 
into  an  idle  garland,  but,  like  the  thyrsus  of  the 
ancients,  over  a sacred  weapon. 

It  now  only  remains  for  me  to  add  my  hope  that 
this  edition  will  present  the  ''adventures  of  a gen- 
tleman” in  a less  imperfect  shape  than  the  last,  and 
in  the  words  of  the  erudite  and  memorable  Joshua 
Barnes,*  " So  to  begin  my  intended  discourse,  if  not 
altogether  true,  yet  not  wholly  vain,  nor  perhnjs 
deficient  in  what  may  exhilarate  a witty  fancy,  or 
inform  a bad  moralist.” 

THE  AUTHOR. 

October,  1828. 

* In  the  Preface  to  his  Gerania. 


PKEFACE 


TO 

THE  EDITION  OP  1840.^^ 


The  holiday  time  of  life,  in  which  this  novel  was 
written,  while  accounting,  perhaps  in  a certain  gaiety 
of  tone,  for  the  popularity  it  has  received,  may  per- 
haps also  excuse,  in  some  measure,  its  more  evident 
deficiencies  and  faults.  Although  I trust  the  time 
has  passed  when  it  might  seem  necessary  to  protest 
against  those  critical  assumptions  which  so  long  con- 
founded the  author  with  the  hero;  — although  I 
equally  trust  that,  even  were  such  assumptions  trde, 
it  would  be  scarcely  necessary  to  dispute  the  justice 
of  visiting  upon  later  and  more  sobered  life,  the 
supposed  foibles  and  levities  of  that  thoughtless  age 
of  eighteen,  in  which  this  fiction  was  first  begun, — 
yet,  perhaps,  some  short  sketch  of  the  origin  of  a 
work,  however  idle,  the  success  of  which  determined 
the  literary  career  of  the  author,  may  not  be  consid- 
ered altogether  presumptuous  or  irrevelant. 

While,  yet,  then  a boy  in  years,  but  with  some 
experience  of  the  world,  which  I entered  prematurely, 


^ Viz.,  in  the  first  collected  edition  of  the  Auth'^r’s  prose  works. 


(ii) 


X 


PREFACE  TO  THE 


I had  the  good  fortune  to  be  confined  to  my  room  by 
a severe  illness,  towards  the  end  of  a London  season. 
All  my  friends  were  out  of  town,  and  I was  left  to 
such  resources  as  solitude  can  suggest  to  the  tedium 
of  sickness.  I amused  myself  by  writing  with  incred- 
ible difiiculty  and  labor  (for  till  then  prose  was  a 
country  almost  as  unknown  to  myself  as  to  Monsieur 
Jourdain)  some  half  a dozen  tales  and  sketches. 
Among  them  was  a story  called  Mortimer,  or  the 
Memoirs  of  a Gentleman.”  Its  commencement  was 
almost  word  for  word  the  same  as  that  of  “ Pelham ; ” 
but  the  design  was  exactly  opposite  to  that  of  the 
latter  and  later  work.  ^'Mortimer”  was  intended 
to  show  the  manner  in  which  the  world  deteriorates 
its  votary,  and  Pelham,”  on  the  contrary,  conveys 
the  newer,  and,  I believe,  sounder  moral,  of  showing 
how  a man  of  sense  can  subject  the  usages  of  the 
world  to  himself  instead  of  being  conquered  by  them, 
anjl  gradually  grow  wise  by  the  very  foibles  of  his 
youth. 

This  tale,  with  the  sketches  written  at  the  same 
period,  was  sent  anonymously  to  a celebrated  pub- 
lisher, who  considered  the  volume  of  too  slight  a 
nature  for  separate  publication,  and  recommended 
me  to  select  the  best  of  the  papers  for  a magazine. 
I was  not  at  that  time  much  inclined  to  a periodical 
mode  of  publishing,  and  thought  no  more  of  what, 
if  * nugoe  to  the  reader,  had  indeed  been  difficiles  to 
the  author.  Soon  afterwards  I went  abroad.  On  my 
return  I sent  a collection  of  letters  to  Mr.  Colburn 


trifles ; difficiles^  difficult. 


EDITION  OF  1840. 


xl 


for  publication,  which,  for  various  reasons,  I after- 
wards worked  up  into  a fiction,  and  which  (greatly 
altered  from  their  original  form)  are  now  known  to 
the  public  under  the  name  of  Falkland.” 

While  correcting  the  sheets  of  that  tale  for  the 
press,  I was  made  aware  of  many  of  its  faults.  But 
it  was  not  till  it  had  been  fairly  before  the  public 
that  I was  sensible  of  its  greatest ; namely,  a sombre 
coloring  in  life,  and  the  indulgence  of  a vein  of  sen- 
timent, which,  though  common  enough  to  all  very 
young  minds  in  their  first  bitter  experience  of  ^he 
disappointments  of  the  world,  had  certainly  ceased 
to  be  new  in  its  expression,  and  had  never  been  true 
in  its  philosophy. 

The  effect  which  the  composition  of  that  work 
produced  upon  my  mind,  was  exactly  similar  to  that 
which  (if  I may  reverently  quote  so  illustrious  an 
example)  Goethe  informs  us  the  writing  of  Werter  ” 
produced  upon  his  own.  I had  rid  my  bosom  of  its 
perilous  stuff,” — I had  confessed  my  sins,  and  was 
absolved, — I could  return  to  real  life  and  its  whole- 
80  ne  objects.  Encouraged  by  the  reception  which 
Falkland”  met  with,  flattering  though  not  brilliant, 
I resolved  to  undertake  a new  and  more  important 
fiction.  I had  long  been  impressed  with  the  truth 
of  an  observation  of  Madame  de  Stael,  that  a char- 
acter at  once  gay  and  sentimental  is  always  successful 
on  the  stage.  I resolved  to  attempt  a similar  character 
for  a novel,  making  the  sentiment,  however,  infinitely 
less  prominent  than  the  gaiety.  My  boyish  attempt 
'A‘  the  Memoirs  of  a Gentleman  ” occured  to  me, 


/ 


Xli  PREFACETOTHE 

and  I resolved  upon  this  foundation  to  build  my  fiction. 
After  a little  consideration  I determined,  however,  to 
enlarge  and  ennoble  the  original  character  : the  char- 
acter itself,  of  the  clever  man  of  the  world  corrupted 
hy  the  world,  was  not  new;  it  had  already  been 
represented  by  Mackenzie,  by  Moore  in  Zeluco,''  and 
in  some  measure  by  the  master-genius  of  Richardson 
itself,  in  the  incomparable  portraiture  of  Lovelace. 
The  moral  to  be  derived  from  such  a creation  seemed 
to  me  also  equivocal  and  dubious.  It  is  a moral  of  a 
gloomy  and  hopeless  school.  We  live  in  the  world; 
the  great  majority  of  us,  in  a state  of  civilization, 
must,  more  or  less,  he  men  of  the  world.  It  struck 
me  that  it  would  be  a new,  an  useful,  and  perhaps  a 
happy  moral,  to  show  in  what  manner  we  might 
redeem  and  brighten  the  common-places  of  life ; to 
prove  (what  is  really  the  fact)  that  the  lessons  of 
society  do  not  necessarily  corrupt,  and  that  we  may 
be  both  men  of  the  world,  and  even,  to  a certain 
degree,  men  of  pleasure,  and  yet  be  something  wiser 
— nobler  — better.  With  this  idea  I formed ’ in-  my 
mind  the  character  of  Pelham ; revolving  its  qualities 
long  and  seriously  before  I attempted  to  describe  them 
on  paper.  For  the  formation  of  my  story,  I studied 
with  no  slight  attention  the  great  works  of  my  pre- 
decessors, and  attempted  to  derive  from  that  study 
certain  rules  and  canons  to  serve  me  as  a guide ; and, 
if  some  of  my  younger  contemporaries  whom  I could 
name  w^ould  only  condescend  to  take  the  same  pre- 
liminary pains  that  I did,  I am  sure  that  the  result 
would  be  much  more  brilliant.  It  often  happens  to 


EDITION  OF  18  40. 


xiii 


me  to  be  consulted  by  persons  about  to  attempi  fiction, 
and  I invariably  find  that  they  imagine  they  have 
only  to  sit  down  and  write.  They  forget  that  art 
does  not  come  by  inspiration,  and  that  the  novelist, 
dealing  constantly  with  contrast  and  effect,  must,  in 
the  widest  and  deepest  sense  of  the  word,  study  to 
be  an  artist.  They  paint  pictures  for  Posterity  with- 
out  having  learned  to  draw. 

Few  critics  have,  hitherto,  sufficiently  considered, 
and  none,  perhaps,  have  accurately  defined,  the  pecu- 
liar characteristics  of  prose  fiction  in  its  distinct 
ochools  and  multiform  varieties  : — of  the  two  principal 
species,  the  Narrative  and  Dramatic,  I chose  for 
Pelham’’  my  models  in  the  former;  and  when  it 
was  objected,  at  the  first  appearance  of  that  work, 
that  the  plot  was  not  carried  on  through  every  inci- 
dent and  every  scene,  the  critics,  evidently  confounded 
the  two  classes  of  fiction  I have  referred  to,  and  asked 
from  a work  in  one  what  ought  only  to  be  the  attri- 
butes of  a work  in  the  other : the  dazzling  celebrity 
of  Scott,  who  deals  almost  solely  with  the  dramatic 
species  of  fiction,  made  them  forgetful  of  the  examples, 
equally  illustrious.,  in  the  narrative  form  of  romance, 
to  be  found  in  Smollett,  in  Fielding,  and  Le  Sage. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  there  is  in  ^‘Pelham”  more  of  plot 
and  of  continued  interest,  and  less  of  those  incidents 
that  do  not  either  bring  out  the  character  of  the  hero, 
or  conduce  to  the  catastrophe,  than  the  narrative 
order  may  be  said  to  require,  or  than  is  warranted 
by  the  great  examples  I have  ventured  to  name. 

After  due  preparation,  I commenced  and  finished 
I.— 2 


PREFACE  TO  THE 


ytv 

the  first  volume  of  Pelham/’  Various  circumstancea 
then  suspended  my  labors,  till  several  months  after- 
wards I found  myself  quietly  buried  in  the  country, 
and  with  so  much  leisure  on  my  hands,  that  I was 
driven,  almost  in  self-defence  from  ennuij  to  continue 
and  conclude  my  attempt. 

It  may  serve  perhaps  to  stimulate  the  courage  and 
sustain  the  hopes  of  otl  ers  to  remark,  that  ^^tbo 
Reader”  to  whom  the  MS.  was  submitted  by  the 
publisher,  pronounced  the  most  unfavorable  and  dam- 
ning opinion  upon  its  chances  of  success, — an  opinion 
fortunately  reversed  by  Mr.  Ollier,  the  able  and 
ingenious  author  of  ^Mnesilla,”  to  whom  it  was  then 
referred.  The  book  was  published,  and  I may  add, 
that  for  about  two  months  it  appeared  in  a fair  way 
of  perishing  prematurely  in  its  cradle.  With  the 
exception  of  two  most  flattering  and  generously- 
indulgent  notices  in  the  Literary  Gazette”  and  the 

Examiner,”  and  a very  encouraging  and  friendly 
criticism  in  the  ^^Atlas,”  it  was  received  by  the  critics 
with  indifference  or  abuse.  They  mistook  its  purport, 
and  translated  its  satire  literally.  But  about  the 
third  month  it  rose  rapidly  into  the  favor  it  has  since 
continued  to  maintain.  Whether  it  answered  all  the 
objects  it  attempted  I cannot  pretend  to  say;  one  at 
least  I imagine  that  it  did  answer : I think,  above 
most  works,  it  contributed  to  put  an  end  to  the  Sa- 
tanic mania, — to  turn  the  thoughts  and  ambition  of 
young  gentlemen  without  neckcloths,  and  young 
clerks  who  were  sallow,  from  playirg  the  Corsair, 
and  boasting  that  they  were  villains.  If,  mistaking 


EDITION  OJ!'  1840. 


the  irony  of  Pelham,  they  went  to  the  extreme  of 
emulating  the  foibles  which  that  hero  attributes  to 
himself — those  were  foibles  at  least  more  harmless, 
and  even  more  manly  and  noble,  than  the  conceit  of 
a general  detestation  of  mankind,  or  the  vanity  of 
storming  our  pity  by  lamentations  over  ima.ginary 
sorrows,  and  sombre  hints  at  the  fatal  burthen  of 
inexpiable  crimes.* 

Such  was  the  history  of  a publication,  which  if 
not  actually  my  first,  was  the  one  whose  fate  was 
always  intended  to  decide  mo  whether  to  conclude  or 
continue  my  attempts  as  an  author. 

I can  repeat,  unaffectedly,  that  I have  indulged  this 
egotism,  not  only  as  a gratification  to  that  common 
curiosity  which  is  felt  by  all  relative  to  the  early 
works  of  an  author,  who,  whatever  be  his  faults  and 
demerits,  has  once  obtained  the  popular  ear ; — but 
also  as  affording,  perhaps,  the  following  lessons  to 
younger  writers  of  less  experience  but  of  more  genius 
than  myself.  First,  in  attempting  fiction,  it  may 
serve  to  show  the  use  of  a critical  study  of  its  rules, 
for  to  that  study  I owe  every  success  in  literature  I 
have  obtained ; and  in  the  mere  art  of  composition, 
if  I have  now  obtained  to  even  too  rapid  a facility,  I 
must  own  that  that  facility  has  been  purchased  by  a 
most  laborious  slowness  in  the  first  commencement, 
and  a resolute  refusal  to  write  a second  sentence  until 

* Sir  Reginnld  Glanville  was  drawn  purposely  of  the  would-be 
Byron  School  as  a foil  to  Pelham.  For  one  who  would  think  of 
imitating  the  first,  ten  thousand  would  be  unawares  attracted  to  the 
last. 


XVI 


PREFACE  TO  THE 


I liad  expressed  my  meaning  in  the  best  manner  I 
could  in  the  first.  And,  secondly,  it  may  prove  the 
very  little  value  of  those  cheers,”  of  the  want  of 
which  Sir  Egerton  Brydges*  so  feelingly  complains, 
and  which  he  considers  so  necessary  towards  the 
obtaining  for  an  author,  no  matter  what  his  talents, 
his  proper  share  of  popularity.  I knew  not  a single 
critic,  and  scarcely  a single  author,  when  I began  to 
write.  I have  never  received  to  this  day  a single 
word  of  encouragement  from  any  of  those  writers 
who  were  considered  at  one  time  the  dispensers  of 
reputation.  Long  after  my  name  was  not  quite 
unknown  in  every  other  country  where  English  liter- 
ature is  received,  the  great  quarterly  journals  of  my 
own  disdained  to  recognize  my  existence.  Let  no 
man  cry  out  then  for  cheers,”  or  for  literary  patron- 
age, and  let  those  aspirants,  who  are  often  now  pleased 
to  write  to  me,  lamenting  their  want  of  interest  and 
their  non-acquaintance  with  critics,  learn  from  the 
author  (insignificant  though  he  be)  who  addresses 
them  in  sympathy  and  fellowship, — that  a man’s 
labors  are  his  best  patrons, — that  the  public  is  the 
only  critic  that  has  no  interest  and  no  motive  in  under- 
rating him, — that  the  world  of  an  author  is  a mighty 
circle  of  which  enmity  and  envy  can  penetrate  but  a 
petty  segment,  and  that  the  pride  of  carving  with 
our  own  hands  our  own  name  is  worth  all  the  cheers” 
in  the  world.  Long  live  Sidney’s  gallant  and  lofty 
motto,  ^^Aut  viam  inveniam  aut  facia m f 


* In  the  melancholy  and  painful  pages  of  his  autobiography, 
f I will  either  find  a way  or  make  it. 


ADYEKTISEMENT 


TO 

THE  PEESENT  EDITION. 


No  ! — you  cannot  guess,  my  dear  reader,  how  long 
my  pen  has  rested  over  the  virgin  surface  of  this 
paper,  before  even  that  No,’'  which  now  stands  out 
so  bluffly  and  manfully,  took  heart  and  stept  forth. 
If,  peradventure,  thou  shouldst,  0 reader,  be  that 
rarity  in  these  days  — a reader  who  has  never  been 
an  author  — thou  canst  form  no  conception  of  the 
strange  aspect  which  the  first  page  of  a premeditated 
composition  will  often  present  to  the  curious  investi- 
gator into  the  initials  of  things.  There  is  a sad 
mania  now-a-days  for  collecting  autographs  — would 
that  some  such  collector  would  devote  his  researches 
to  the  first  pages  of  auctorial  manuscripts  ! He  would 
then  form  some  idea  of  the  felicitous  significance  of 
that  idiomatic  phrase,  to  cudgel  the  brains  ! ” — Out 
nf  what  grotesque  zigzags,  and  fantastic  arabesques, 
2 * B (xvii) 


^yiii  ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE 

— cut  of  what  irrelevant,  dreamy  illustrations  from 
the  sister  art, — houses,  and  trees,  and  profile  sketches 
of  men,  nightmares,  and  chimeras  — out  of  what 
massacres  of  whole  lines,  prematurely  and  timidly 
ventured  forth  as  forlorn  hopes, — would  he  see  the 
first  intelligible  words  creep  into  actual  life  — shy 
streaks  of  light,  emerging  from  the  chacs ! For  that 
rash  promise  of  mine,  that  each  work  ir  ihis  edition 
of  works  so  numerous,  shall  have  its  own  new  and 
special  Preface,  seems  to  me  hard,  in  this  instance, 
to  fulfil.  Another  Preface  ! what  for?  Two  Prefaces 
to  Pelham’’  already  exist,  wherein  all  that  I would 
say  is  said  ! And  in  going  back  through  that  long 
and  crowded  interval  of  twenty  years,  since  the  first 
appearance  of  this  work, — what  shadows  rise  to 
beckon  me  away  through  the  glades  and  alleys  in  that 
dim  labyrinth  of  the  Past!  Infant  Hopes,  scarce 
born  ere  fated,  poor  innocents,  to  die  — gazing  upon 
me  with  reproachful  eyes,  as  if  I myself  had  been 
their  unfeeling  butcher ; — audacious  Enterprises 
boldly  begun,  to  cease  in  abrupt  whim,  or  chilling 
doubt  — looking  now  through  the  mists,  zoophital  or 
amphibious,  like  those  borderers  on  the  animal  and 
vegetable  life,  which  flash  on  us  with  the  seeming 
flutter  of  a wing,  to  subside  away  into  rooted  stems 
and  withering  leaves.  How  can  I escape  the  phantom 
throng  ? How  return  to  the  starting-post,  and  recall 
the  ardent  emotions  with  which  youth  sprung  forth 
to  the  goal  ? To  write  fitting  Preface  to  this  work, 
which,  if  not  my  first,  was  the  first  which  won  an 


PRESENT  EDITION.  XiX 

audience  and  secured  a reader,  I must  myself  become 
a phantom,  with  the  phantom  crowd.  It  is  the  ghost 
of  my  youth  that  I must  call  up.  What  we  are, 
alone  hath  flesh  and  blood  — what  we  have  been,  like 
the  what  we  shall  be,  is  an  idea ; and  no  more  ! An 
idea  how  dim  and  impalpable ! This  our  sense  of 
identity,  this  I”  of  ours,  which  is  the  single  thread 
that  continues  from  first  to  last  — single  thread  that 
binds  flowers  changed  every  day,  and  withered  every 
night  — how  thin  and  meagre  is  it  of  itself — how 
difficult  to  lay  hold  of!  When  we  say  I remember 
how  vague  a sentiment  we  utter  I how  different  it  is 
to  say  Ifeeir'  And  when  in  this  effort  of  memory 
we  travel  back  all  the  shadow-land  of  years  — when 
we  say  I remember,”  what  is  it  we  retain,  but  some 
poor  solitary  fibre  in  the  airy  mesh  of  that  old  gossa- 
mer, which  floated  between  earth  and  heaven — moist 
with  the  dews  and  sparkling  in  the  dawn  ? — Some 
one  incident,  some  one  affection  we  recall,  but  not  all 
the  associations  that  surrounded  it,  all  the  companions 
of  the  brain  or  the  heart,  with  which  it  formed  one 
of  the  harmonious  contemporaneous  ring.  Scarcely 
even  have  we  traced  and  seized  one  fine  filament  in 
the  broken  web,  ere  it  is  lost  again.  In  the  inextri- 
cable confusion  of  old  ideas,  many  that  seem  of  the 
time  we  seek  to  grasp  again,  but  were  not  so,  seize 
and  distract  us.  From  the  clear  effort  we  sink  into 
the  vague  reverie ; the  Present  hastens  to  recall  and 
lash  us  onward,  and  few,  leaving  the  actual  world 
around  them  when  they  say  I remember  ” do  not 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE 

wake  as  from  a dream,  with  a baffled  sigh,  and  mur- 
mur No,  I forget.”  And  therefore,  if  a new  Preface 
to  a work  written  twenty  years  ago,  should  contain 
some  elucidation  of  the  aims  and  objects  with  which 
it  was  composed,  or  convey  some  idea  of  the  writer  s 
mind  at  that  time,  my  pen  might  well  rest  long  over 
the  blank  page ; — and  houses  and  trees,  and  profile 
sketches  of  men,  nightmares  and  chimeras,  and  whole 
passages  scrawled  and  erased,  might  well  illustrate 
the  barren  travail  of  one  who  sits  down  to  say  I 
remember ! ” 

What  changes  in  the  outer  world  since  this  book 
was  written  ! What  changes  of  thrones  and  dynas- 
ties ! Through  what  cycles  of  hope  and  fear  has  a 
generation  gone  ! And  in  that  inner  world  of  Thought 
what  old  ideas  have  returned  to  claim  the  royalty  of 
new  ones ! What  new  ones  (new  ones  then)  have 
receded  out  of  sight,  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  human 
mind,  which,  whatever  the  cant  phrase  may  imply, 
advances  in  no  direct  steadfast  progress,  but  gains 
here  to  lose  there ; — a tide,  not  a march.  So,  too, 
in  that  slight  surface  of  either  world,  the  manners,” 
superficies  alike  of  the  action  and  the  thought  of  an 
age,  the  ploughshares  of  twenty  years  have  turned 
up  a new  soil. 

The  popular  changes  in  the  Constitution  have 
brought  the  several  classes  more  intimately  into  con- 
nection with  each  other;  most  of  the  old  affectations 
of  fashion  and  exclusiveness  are  out  of  date.  We 
have  not  talked  of  equality,  like  our  neighbors  tlie 


PRESENT  EDITION.  XXi 

French,  but  insensibly  and  naturally,  the  tone  of 
manners  has  admitted  much  of  the  frankness  of  the 
principle,  without  the  unnecessary  rudeness  of  the 
pretence.  I am  not  old  enough  yet  to  be  among  the 
indiscriminate  praisers  of  the  past,  and  therefore  I 
recognize  cheerfully  an  extraordinary  improvement 
in  the  intellectual  and  moral  features  of  the  English 
world,  since  I first  entered  it  as  an  observer.  There 
is  a far  greater  earnestness  of  purpose,  a higher  cul- 
ture, more  generous  and  genial  views,  amongst  the 
young  men  of  the  rising  generation  than  were  common 
in  the  last.  The  old  divisions  of  party  politics  remain  ; 
but  among  all  divisions  there  is  greater  desire  of 
identification  with  the  people.  Rank  is  more  sensible 
of  its  responsibilities.  Property  of  its  duties.  Amongst 
the  clergy  of  all  sects,  the  improvement  in  zeal,  in 
education,  in  active  care  for  their  flocks,  is  strikingly 
noticeable;  the  middle  class  have  become  more  in- 
structed and  refined,  and  yet,  (while  fused  with  the 
highest  in  their  intellectual  tendencies,  reading  the 
same  books,  cultivating  the  same  accomplishments) — ■ 
they  have  extended  their  sympathies  more  largely 
amongst  the  humblest.  And,  in  our  towns  especially, 
what  advances  have  been  made  amongst  the  operati  ve 
population ! I do  not  here  refer  to  that  branch  of 
cultivation  which  comprises  the  questions  that  belong 
to  political  inquiry,  but  to  the  general  growth  of  more 
refined  and  less  polemical  knowledge.  Cheap  books 
have  come  in  vogue  as  a fashion  during  the  last 
twenty  years  — books  addressed,  not  as  cheap  books 


Xxii  ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE 

were  once,  to  the  passions,  but  to  the  understanding 
and  the  taste  — books  not  written  down  to  the  sup- 
posed level  of  uninformed  and  humble  readers,  but 
such  books  as  refine  the  gentleman  and  instruct  the 
scholar.  The  arts  of  design  have  been  more  appre- 
ciated— the  Beautiful  has  been  admitted  into  the 
[pursuits  of  labor  as  a principle  — Eeligion  has  been 
I’egaining  the  ground  it  lost  in  the  latter  half  of  the 
last  century.  What  is  technically  called  education 
(education  of  the  school  and  the  schoolmaster),  has 
made  less  progress  than  it  might.  But  that  inexpres- 
sible diffusion  of  oral  information  which  is  the  only 
culture  the  old  Athenians  knew,  and  which  in  the 
ready  transmission  of  ideas,  travels  like  light  from 
lip  to  lip,  has  been  insensibly  educating  the  adult 
generation.  In  spite  of  all  the  dangers  that  menace 
the  advance  of  the  present  century,  I am  convinced 
that  classes  amongst  us  are  far  more  united  than  they 
were  in  the  latter  years  of  George  the  Fourth.  A 
vast  mass  of  discontent  exists  amongst  the  operatives, 
it  is  true,  and  Chartism  is  but  one  of  its  symptoms ; 
yet  that  that  discontent  is  more  obvious  than  formerly, 
is  a proof  that  men  s eyes  and  men’s  ears  are  more 
open  to  acknowledge  its  existence  — to  examine  and 
listen  to  its  causes.  Thinking  persons  now  occupy 
themselves  with  that  great  reality  — the  People;  and 
questions  concerning  their  social  welfare,  their  health, 
their  education,  their  interests,  their  rights,  which 
philosophers  alone  entertained  twenty  years  ago,  are 
now  on  the  lips  of  practical  men,  and  in  the  hearts 


PRESENT  EDITION. 


xXui 


of  all.  It  is  this  greater  earnestness — this  profounder 
gravity  of  purpose  and  of  view,  which  forms  tho 
most  cheering  characteristic  of  the  present  time ; and 
though  that  time  has  its  peculiar  faults  and  vices,  thin 
is  not  the  place  to  enlarge  on  them.  I have  done, 
f nd  may  yet  do  so,  elsewhere.  This  work  is  tlie 
picture  of  manners  in  certain  classes  of  society  twenty 
years  ago,  and  in  that  respect  I believe  it  to  be  true 
and  faithful.  Nor  the  less  so,  that  under  the  frivol- 
ities of  the  hero,  it  is  easy  to  recognize  the  substance 
of  those  more  serious  and  solid  qualities  which  Time 
has  educed  from  the  generation  and  the  class  he 
represents.  Mr.  Pelham  studying  Mills  on  Govern- 
ment and  the  Political  Economists,  was  thought  by 
some  an  incongruity  in  character  at  the  day  in  which 
Mr.  Pelham  first  appeared  — the  truth  of  that  con- 
ception is  apparent  now,  at  least  to  the  observant. 
The  fine  gentlemen  of  that  day  were  preparing  them- 
selves for  the  after  things,  which  were  already  fore- 
shadowed; and  some  of  those,  then  best  known  in 
clubs  and  drawing-rooms,  have  been  since  foremost 
and  boldest,  nor  least  instructed,  in  the  great  struggles 
of  public  life. 

I trust  that  this  work  may  now  be  read  without 
prejudice  from  the  silly  error  that  long  sought  to 
identify  the  author  with  the  hero. 

Barely  indeed,  if  ever,  can  we  detect  the  real 
likeness  of  an  author  of  fiction  in  any  single  one  of 
his  creations.  He  may  live  in  each  of  them,  but 
only  for  the  time.  He  migrates  into  a new  form  with 


XXiv  ADVERTISEMENT  TO  PRESENT  EDITION. 

ov^eiy  new  character  he  creates.  He  may  have  in 
himself  a quality,  here  and  there,  in  common  with 
each,  but  others  so  widely  onposite,  as  to  destroy  all 
the  resemblance  you  fancy  for  a moment  you  have 
discovered.  However  this  be,  the  author  has  the 
advantage  over  his  work  — that  the  last  remains 
stationary,  with  its  faults  or  merits,  and  the  former 
has  the  power  to  improve.  The  one  remains  the  index 
of  its  day  — the  other  advances  with  the  century. 
That  in  a book  written  in  extreme  youth,  there  may 
be  much  that  I would  not  write  now  in  mature  man- 
hood, is  obvious;  that  in  spite  of  its  defects,  the 
work  should  have  retained  to  this  day  the  popularity 
it  enjoyed  in  the  first  six  months  of  its  birth,  is  the 
best  apology  that  can  be  made  for  its  defects. 

E.  B.  L. 


London,  1848. 


PELHAM; 


OR, 

ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Oil  peiit-oa  etre  mieux  qu’au  sein  de  sa  farallle?  * — French  Song, 

I AM  an  only  child.  My  father  was  the  younger  son  of 
one  of  our  oldest  earls,  my  mother  the  dowerless  daughter 
of  a Scotch  peer.  Mr.  Pelham  was  a moderate  whig,  and 
gave  sumptuous  dinners;  — Lady  Frances  was  a woman 
of  taste,  and  particularly  fond  of  diamonds  and  old  china. 

Yulgar  people  know  nothing  of  the  necessaries  required 
in  good  society,  and  the  credit  they  give  is  as  short  as 
their  pedigree.  Six  years  aftor  my  birth,  there  was  an 
execution  in  our  house.  My  mother  was  just  setting  off 

on  a visit  to  the  Duchess  of  D ; she  declared  it  was 

impossible  to  go  without  her  diamonds.  The  chief  of  the. 
bailiffs  declared  it  was  impossible  to  trust  them  out  of  his 
sight.  The  matter  was  compromised  — the  bailiff  went 


* Where  can  one  be  better  than  in  the  bosom  of  one’s  family  ? 
L— 3 (25) 


26 


PELHAM;  OR, 


with  my  mother  to  C , and  was  introduced  as  my  tutor 

“ A man  of  singular  merit, whispered  my  mother,  “bu: 
so  shy  ! Fortunately,  the  bailiJBf  w'as  abashed,  and  by 
losing  his  impudence  he  kept  the  secret.  At  the  end  of 
the  week,  the  diamonds  went  to  the  jeweller’s,  and  Lady 
Frances  wore  paste. 

I think  it  was  about  a month  afterwards  that  a sixteenth 
cousin  left  my  mother  twenty  thousand  pounds.  It  will 
just  pay  off  our  most  importunate  creditors,  and  equip 
me  for  Melton,”  said  Mr.  Pelham. 

It  will  just  redeem  my  diamonds,  and  re-furnish  the 
house,”  said  Lady  Frances. 

The  latter  alternative  was  chosen.  My  father  went  down 
to  run  his  last  horse  at  Newmarket,  and  my  mother  re- 
ceived nine  hundred  people  in  a Turkish  tent.  Both  were 
equally  f)rtunate,  the  Greek  and  the  Turk ; my  father’s 
horse  lod,  in  consequence  of  which  he  pocketed  five  thou- 
sand pounds  ; and  my  mother  looked  so  charming  as  a 
Sultana,  that  Seymour  Conway  fell  desperately  in  love 
with  her. 

Mr.  Conway  had  just  caused  two  divorces ; and  of 
course  all  the  women  in  London  were  dying  for  him  — 
judge  then  of  the  pride^which  Lady  Frances  felt  at  his 
addresses.  The  end  of  the  season  was  unusually  dull,  and 
my  mother,  after  having  looked  over  her  list  of  engage- 
ments. and  ascertained  that  she  had  none  remaining  worth 
stayhig  for,  agreed  to  elope  with  her  new  lover. 

The  carriage  was  at  the  end  of  the  square.  My  mother, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  got  up  at  six  o’clock.  Iler 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


27 


foot  was  on  the  step,  and  her  hand  next  to  Mr.  Conway’s 
heart,  when  she  remembered  that  her  favorite  china  mon- 
ster, and  her  French  dog,  were  left  behind.  She  insisted 
on  returning — re-entered  the  house,  and  was  coming  down 
stairs  with  one  under  each  arm,  when  she  was  met  by  my 
father  and  two  servants.  My  father’s  valet  had  discovered 
the  flight  (I  forget  how),  and  awakened  his  master. 

When  my  father  was  convinced  of  his  loss,  ho  called 
for  his  dressing-gown — searched  the  garret  and  the  kit- 
chen— looked  in  the  maid’s  drawers  and  the  cellaret — and 
finally  declared  he  was  distracted.  I h'ave  heard  that  the 
servants  were  quite  melted  by  his  grief,  and  I do  not  doubt 
it  in  the  least,  for  he  was  always  celebrated  for  his  skill  in 
private  theatricals.  He  was  just  retiring  to  vent  his  grief 
in  his  dressing-room,  when  he  met  my  mother.  It  must 
altogether  have  been  an  awkward  encounter,  and,  indeed, 
for  my  father,  a remarkably  unfortunate  occurrence  ; since 
Seymour  Conway  was  immensely  rich,  and  the  damages 
would,  no  doubt,  have  been  proportionably  high.  Had 
they  met  each  other  alone,  the  affair  might  easily  have 
been  settled,  and  Lady  Frances  gone  off  in  tranquillity  \ 
— those  confounded  servants  are  always  in  the  way ! 

I have  observed  that  the  distinguishing  trait  of  people 
accustomed  to  good  society,  is  a calm,  imperturbable 
quiet,  which  pervades  all  their  actions  and  habits,  from 
the  greatest  to  the  least : they  eat  in  quiet,  move  in  quiet, 
live  in  quiet,  and  lose  their  wife,  or  even  their  money,  in 
quiet ; while  low  persons  cannot  take  up  either  a spoon 


28 


PELHAM;  OR, 


or  an  affront  without  making  such  an  amazing  noise  about 
it.  To  render  this  observation  good,  and  to  return  to  the 
intended  elopement,  nothing  farther  was  said  upon  tha^ 
event.  My  father  introduced  Conway  to  Brookes’s,  at 
invited  him  to  dinner  twice  a week  for  a whole  twelve 
mouth. 

Not  long  after  this  occurrence,  by  the  death  of  my 
randfather,  my  uncle  succeeded  to  the  title  and  estates 
of  the  family.  He  was,  as  people  rather  justly  observed, 
rather  an  odd  man  : built  schools  for  peasants,  forgave 
poachers,  and  diminished  his  farmers’  rents ; indeed,  on 
account  of  these  and  similar  eccentricities,  he  was  thought 
a fool  by  some,  and  a madman  by  otkers.  However,  he 
was  not  quite  destitute  of  natural  feeling  ; for  he  paid  ray 
father’s  debts,  and  established  us  in  the  secure  enjoyment 
of  our  former  splendor.  But  this  piece  of  generosity,  or 
justice,  was  done  in  the  most  unhandsome  manner ; he 
obtained  a promise  from  my  father  to  retire  from  whist, 
and  relinquish  the  turf;  and  he  prevailed  upon  my  mother 
to  conceive  an  aversion  to  diamonds,  and  an  indifference 
to  china  monsters. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


29 


CHAPTER  II. 

Tell  arts  they  have  no  soundness, 

But  vary  by  esteeming; 

Tell  schools  they  want  profoundness, 

And  stand  too  much  on  seeming. 

If  arts  and  schools  reply, 

Give  arts  and  schools  the  lie.  — The  SouVs  Errand, 

At  ten  years  old  I went  to  Eton.  I had  been  educated 
till  that  period  by  my  mother,  who,  being  distantly  related 

to  Lord , (who  had  published  “ Hints  upon  the 

Culinary  Art”),  imagined  she  possessed  an  hereditary 
claim  to  literary  distinction.  History  was  her  great  forte ; 
for  she  had  read  all  the  historical  romances  of  the  day ; 
and  history  accordingly  I had  been  carefully  taught. 

I think  at  this  moment  I see  my  mother  before  me,  re- 
clining on  her  sofa,  and  repeating  to  me  some  story  about 
Queen  Elizabeth  and  Lord  Essex  ; then  telling  me,  in  a 
languid  voice,  as  she  sank  back  with  the  exertion,  of  the 
blessings  of  a literary  taste,  and  admonishing  me  never  to 
read  above  half  an  hour  at  a time,  for  fear  of  losing  my 
health. 

Well,  to  Eton  I went;  and  the  second  day  I had  been 
there,  I was  half  killed  for  refusing,  with  all  the  pride  of 
a Pelham,  to  wash  tea-cups.  I was  rescued  from  the 
clutches  of  my  tyrant  by  a boy  not  much  bigger  than  my- 
self, but  reckoned  the  best  fighter,  for  his  size,  in  the 
whole  school.  His  name  was  Reginald  Glanville  : from 
3* 


80 


PELHAM;  OR, 


that  period,  we  became  inseparable,  and  onr  friendship 
lasted  all  the  time  he  stayed  at  Eton,  which  was  within  a 
year  of  my  own  departure  for  Cambridge. 

His  father  was  a baronet,  of  a very  ancient  and  wealthy 
family  ; and  his  mother  was  a woman  of  some  talent  and 
more  ambition.  She  made  her  house  one  of  the  most 
attractive  in  London.  Seldom  seen  at  large  assemblies, 
she  was  eagerly  sought  after  in  the  well-winnowed  soirees 
-of  the  elect.  Her  wealth,  great  as  it  was,  seemed  the 
least  prominent  ingredient  of  her  establishment.  There 
was  in  it  no  uncalled-for  ostentation  — no  purse-proud 
vulgarit}^ — no  cringing  to  great,  and  no  patronizing  con- 
descension to  little  people  ; even  the  Sunday  newspapers 
could  not  find  fault  with  her,  and  the  querulous  wives  of 
younorer  brothers  could  only  sneer  and  be  silent. 

It  is  an  excellent  connection,’’  said  my  mother,  when 
I told  her  of  my  friendship  with  Reginald  Glanville,  ‘*and 
will  be  of  more  use  to  you  than  many  of  greater  apparent 
consequence.  Remember,  my  dear,  that  in  all  the  friends 
you  make  at  present,  you  look  to  the  advantage  you  can 
derive  from  them  hereafter  ; that  is  what  we  call  knowledge 
of  the  world,  and  it  is  to  get  the  knowledge  of  the  world 
that  you  are  sent  to  a public  school.” 

I ihink,  however,  to  my  shame,  that  notwithstanding 
my  mother’s  instructions,  very  few'  prudential  considera- 
tions w'ere  mingled  wdth  my  friendship  for  Reginald  Glan- 
ville. I loved  him  wdth  a warmth  of  attachment,  which 
aas  since  surprised  even  myself. 

He  w'as  of  a very  singular  character  : he  used  to  w'ander 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


31 


by  the  river  in  the  bright  days  of  summer,  when  all  else 
were  at  play,  without  any  companion  but  his  own 
thoughts  ; and  these  w^ere  tinged,  even  at  that  early  age, 
with  a deep  and  impassioned  melancholy.  lie  was  so 
reserved  in  his  manner,  that  it  was  looked  upon  as  cold- 
ness or  pride,  and  was  repaid  as  such  by  a pretty  general 
dislike.  Yet  to  those  he  loved,  no  one  could  be  more  open 
and  warm  ; more  watchful  to  gratify  others,  more  indif- 
ferent to  gratification  for  himself ; an  utter  absence  of  all 
selfishness,  and  an  eager  and  active  benevolence,  were 
indeed  the  distinguishing  traits  of  his  character.  I have 
^een  him  endure  with  a careless  good-nature  the  most 
provoking  affronts  from  boys  much  less  than  himself;  but 
if  I,  or  any  other  of  his  immediate  frierids,  was  injured  or 
aggrieved,  his  anger  w^as  almost  implacable.  Although 
he  was  of  a slight  frame,  yet  early  exercise  had  brought 
strength  to  his  muscles,  and  activity  to  his  limbs  ; while 
there  was  that  in  his  courage  and  will  which,  despite  his 
reserve  and  unpopularity,  always  marked  him  out  as  a 
leader  in  those  enterprises,  wherein  we  test  as  boys  the 
qualities  which  chiefly  contribute  to  secure  hereafter  our 
position  amongst  men. 

Such,  briefly  and  imperfectly  sketched,  was  the  char- 
acter of  Reginald  Glanville — the  one,  who,  of  all  my  early 
companions,  differed  the  most  from  myself ; yet  the  one 
whom  I loved  the  most,  and  the  one  whose  fuU.re  destiny 
was  the  most  intertwined  with  my  own. 

I was  the  head  class  when  I left  Eton.  As  I was 
reckoned  an  ^uncommonly  well-educated  boy,  it  may  not 


32 


PELHAM;  OR, 


be  uTi gratifying  to  the  admirers  of  the  present  system  of 
education  to  pause  here  for  a moment,  and  recall  what  I 
then  knew.  I could  make  fifty  Latin  verses  in  half  an 
hour;  I could  construe,  without  an  English  translation, 
all  the  easy  Latin  authors,  and  many  of  the  difficult  ones 
with  it:  I could  read  Greek  fluently,  and  even  translate 
it  through  the  medium  of  the  Latin  version  technically 
called  a crib.*  I was  thought  exceedingly  clever,  for  I 
had  been  only  eight  years  acquiring  all  this  fund  of  in- 
formation, which,  as  one  need  never  recall  it  in  the  world, 
you  have  every  right  to  suppose  that  I had  entirely  for- 
gotten before  I was  five-and-twenty.  As  I was  never 
taught  a syllable  of  English  during  this  period  ; as,  when 
I once  attempted  to  read  Pope’s  poems  out  of  school 
hours,  I was  laughed  at,  and  called  a sap;^^  as  my  mo- 
ther, when  I went  to  school,  renounced  her  own  instruc- 
tions ; and  as,  whatever  school-masters  may  think  to  the 
contrary,  one  learns  nothing  now-a-days  by  inspiration  : 
so  of  everything  which  relates  to  English  literature,  Eng- 
lish laws,  and  English  history  (with  the  exception  of  the 
said  story  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Lord  Essex),  you  have 
the  same  right  to  suppose  that  I was,  at  the  age  of  eigh. 
teen,  when  I left  Eton,  in  the  profoundest  ignorance. 

At  this  age,  I was  transplanted  to  Cambridge,  where 

* It  is  but  just  to  say  that  the  educational  system  at  public 
schools  is  greatly  improved  since  the  above  was  written.  And  take 
those  great  seminaries  altogether,  it  may  be  doubted  wliether  an^ 
institutions  more  philosophical  in  theory  are  better  adapted  to  se- 
cure that  union  of  classical  tastes  with  manly  habits  and  honorable 
sentiments  which  diitiuguishes  the  English  gentleman. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


33 


I bloomed  for  two  years  in  the  blue  and  silver  of  a fellow  . 
commoner  of  Trinity.  At  the  end  of  that  time  (being  of 
royal  descent)  I became  entitled  to  an  honorary  degree. 

I suppose  the  term  is  in  contradistinction  to  an  honorable 
degree,  which  is  obtained  by  pale  men  in  spectacles  and 
cotton  stockings,  after  thirty-six  months  of  intense  appli* 
cation. 

I do  not  exactly  remember  how  I spent  my  time  at 
Cambridge.  I had  a piano-forte  in  my  room,  and  a pri- 
vate billiard-room  at  a village  two  miles  off ; and,  between 
these  resources,  I managed  to  improve  my  mind  more  than 
could  reasonably  have  been  expected.  To  say  truth,  the 
whole  place  reeked  with  vulgarity.  The  men  drank  beer 
by  the  gallon,  and  ate  cheese  by  the  hundred-weight  — 
wore  jockey-cut  coats,  and  talked  slang — rode  for  wagers,  ^ 
and  swore  when  they  lost — smoked  in  your  face,  and  ex- 
pectorated on  the  floor.  Their  proudest  glory  was  to 
drive  the  mail  — their  mightiest  exploit  to  box  with  the 
coachman — their  most  delicate  amour  to  leer  at  the  bar- 
maid.* 

It  will  be  believed,  that  I felt  little  regret  in  quitting 
companions  of  this  description.  I went  to  take  leave  of 
our  college  tutor.  ^‘Mr.  Pelham,^’  said  he,  affectionately 
oqueezing  me  by  the  hand,  “your  conduct  has  been  most 
exemplary ; you  have  not  walked  wantonly  over  the  col- 
lege grass-plats,  nor  set  your  dog  at  the  proctor  — nor 

* This,  at  that  time,  was  a character  that  could  only  be  applied 
to  the  gayest,  that  is  the  worst,  set  at  the  University— and  perhaps 
now  the  character  may  scarcely  exist. 


0 


PELHAM;  OR, 


u 

driven  tandems  by  day,  nor  broken  lamps  by  night  — nor 
entered  the  chapel  in  order  to  display  your  intoxication 
— nor  the  lecture-room,  in  order  to  caricature  the  pro- 
fessors. This  is  the  general  behavior  of  young  men  of 
family  and  fortune  ; but  it  has  not  been  your’s.  Sir,  you 
have  been  an  honor  to  your  college.” 

Thus  closed  my  academical  career.  He  who  does  not 
allow  that  it  passed  creditably  to  my  teachers,  profitably 
to  myself,  and  beneficially  to  the  world,  is  a narrow- 
minded and  illiterate  man,  who  knows  nothing  of  the 
advantages  of  modern  education. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Thus  does  a false  ambition  rule  us, 

Thus  pomp  delude,  and  folly  fool  us. — Shenstone. 

An  open  house,  haunted  with  great  resort. — Bishop  Hall’s  Satires, 

I LEFT  Cambridge  in  a very  weak  state  of  health  ; and 
as  nobody  had  yet  come  to  London,  I accepted  the  in- 
vitation of  Sir  Lionel  Garrett  to  pay  him  a vi^it  at  his 
country-seat.  Accordingly,  one  raw  winter’s  day,  full  of 
the  hopes  of  the  reviving  influence  of  air  and  exercise,  I 
found  myself  carefully  packed  up  in  three  great-coats,  and 
on  the  high  road  to  Garrett  Park. 

Sir  Lionel  Garrett  was  a character  very  common  in 
England,  and,  in  describing  him,  I describe  the  whole 
species.  He  was  of  an  ancient  family,  and  his  ancestors 
had  for  centuries  resided  on  their  estates  in  Norfolk.  Sir 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


35 


Lionel,  who  came  to  his  majority  and  his  fortune  at  the 
same  time,  went  up  to  London  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
a raw,  uncouth  sort  of  young  man,  wdth  a green  coat  and 
lank  hair.  His  friends  in  town  were  of  that  set  w^hose 
members  are  above  toUj  whenever  they  do  not  grasp  at 
its  possession,  but  who,  whenever  they  do,  lose  at  once 
their  aim  and  their  equilibrium,  and  fall  immeasurably 
below  it.  I mean  that  set  wdiich  I call  the  respectable 
consisting  of  old  peers  of  an  old  school ; country  gentle- 
men, who  still  disdain  not  to  love  their  wdne  and  to  hate 
the  French  ; generals  who  have  served  in  the  army  ; elder 
brothers  who  succeed  to  something  besides  a mortgage  ; 
and  younger  brothers  w^ho  do  not  mistake  their  capital 
for  their  income.  To  this  set  you  may  add  the  whole  of 
the  baronetage — for  I have  remarked  that  baronets  hang 
together  like  bees  or  Scotchmen  ; and  if  I go  to  a baro- 
net’s house,  and  speak  to  some  one  whom  I have  not  the 
happiness  to  know,  I always  say  Sir  John  I 

It  wms  no  w^onder,  then,  that  to  this  set  belonged  Sir 
Lionel  Garrett  — no  more  the  youth  with  a green  coat 
and  lank  hair,  but  pinched  in,  and  curled  out — abounding 
in  horses  and  whiskers  — dancing  all  night — lounging  all 
day  — the  favorite  of  the  old  ladies,  the  Philander  of  the 
young. 

One  unfortunate  evening  Sir  Lionel  Garrett  was  intro- 
duced to  the  celebrated  Duchess  of  D.  From  that  mo- 
ment his  head  was  turned.  Before  then,  he  had  always 
imagined  that  he  was  somebody — that  he  was  Sir  Lionel 
Garrett,  with  a good-looking  person  and  eight  thousand 


36 


PELHAM;  OR, 


a-year ; he  now  knew  that  he  was  nobody,  unless  he  went 
to  Lady  G.’s,  and  unless  he  bowed  to  Lady  S.  Disdain- 
ing all  importance  derived  from  himself,  it  became  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  his  happiness,  that  all  his  importance 
should  be  derived  solely  from  his  acquaintance  with  others. 
He  cared  not  a straw  that  he  was  a man  of  fortune,  of 
family,  of  consequence  ; he  must  be  a man  of  ton  ; or  he 
was  an  atom,  a nonentity,  a very  worm,  aad  no  man.  No 
lawyer  at  Gray’s  Inn,  no  galley-slave  at  the  oar,  ever 
worked  so  hard  at  his  task  as  Sir  Lionel  Garrett  at  his. 
Ton,  to  a single  man,  is  a thing  obtainable  enough.  Sir 
Lionel  was  just  gaining  the  envied  distinction,  when  he 
saw,  courted,  and  married  Lady  Harriet  Woodstock. 

His  new  wife  was  of  a modern  and  not  very  rich  family, 
and  striving  like  Sir  Lionel  for  the  notoriety  of  fashion  ; 
but  of  this  struggle  he  was  ignorant.  He  saw  her  ad- 
niitted  into  good  society  — he  imagined  she  commanded 
it ; she  was  a hanger-on  — he  believed  she  was  a leader. 
Lady  Harriet  was  crafty  and  twenty-four  — had  no  objec- 
tion to  be  married,  nor  to  change  the  name  of  Woodstock 
for  Garrett.  She  kept  up  the  baronet’s  mistake  till  it  was 
too  late  to  repair  it. 

Mnrriage  did  not  bring  Sir  Lionel  wisdom.  His  wife 
was  of  the  same  turn  of  mind  as  himself : they  might  have 
been  great  people  in  the  country  — they  preferred  being 
little  people  in  town.  They  might  have  chosen  friends 
among  persons  of  respectability  and  rank — they  preferred 
being  chosen  as  acquaintance  by  persons  of  ton.  Society 
was  their  being’s  end  and  aim,  and  the  only  thing  which 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  31 

brought  them  pleasure  was  the  pain  of  attaining  it.  Did 
I not  say  truly  that  I would  describe  individuals  of  a 
common  species  ? Is  there  one  who  reads  this,  who  does 
lut  recognize  that  overflowing  class  of  our  population, 
whose  members  would  conceive  it  an  insult  to  be  thought 
of  sufficient  rank  to  be  respectable  for  what  they  are  ? - - 
who  take  it  as  an  honor  that  they  are  made  by  their  ac- 
quaintance ? — who  renounce  the  ease  of  living  for  them- 
selves, for  the  trouble  of  living  for  persons  who  care  not 
a pin  for  their  existence  — who  are  wretched  if  they  are 
not  dictated  to  by  others  — and  who  toil,  groan,  travail, 
through  the  whole  course  of  life,  in  order  to  forfeit  their 
independence  ? 

I arrived  at  Garrett  Park  just  time  enough  to  dress  for 
dinner.  As  I was  descending  the  stairs  after  having 
performed  that  ceremony,  I heard  my  own  name  pro- 
nounced by  a very  soft,  lisping  voice  — “ Henry  Pelham  ! 
dear,  what  a pretty  name.  Is  he  handsome  ? ” 

^‘Rather  elegant  than  handsome,’’  was  the  unsatis- 
factory reply,  couched  in  a slow,  pompous  accent,  which 
I immediately  recognized  to  belong  to  Lady  Harriet 
Garrett. 

Can  we  make  something  of  him  ?”  resumed  the  first 
voice, 

“ Something  ! ” said  Lady  Harriet,  indignantly  ; he 
will  be  Lord  Glenmorris  1 and  he  is  son  to  Lady  Frances 
Pelham.” 

'‘Ah,”  said  the  lisper,  carelessly ; " but  can  he  write 
poetry,  and  play 

L — 4 


38 


PELHAM;  OR. 


“No,  Lady  Harriet,’’  said  I,  advancing;  “but  permit 
me,  through  you,  to  assure  Lady  Nelthorpe  that  he  can 
admire  those  who  do.” 

“ So  you  know  me  then  ?”  said  the  lisper : “I  see  we 
shall  be  excellent  friends  ; ” and,  disengaging  herself  from 
Lady  Harriet,  she  took  my  arm,  and  began  discussing 
persons  and  things,  poetry  and  china,  French  plays  and 
music,  till  I found  myself  beside  her  at  dinner,  and  most 
assiduously  endeavoring  to  silence  her  by  the  superior 
engrossments  of  a bechamelle  de  poisson. 

I took  the  opportunity  of  the  pause,  to  survey  the  little 
circle  of  which  Lady  Harriet  was  the  centre.  In  the 
first  place,  there  was  Mr.  Davison,  a great  political  econ- 
omist, a short,  dark,  corpulent  gentleman,  with  a quiet, 
serene,  sleepy  countenance  ; beside  him  was  a quick,  sharp 
little  woman,  all  sparkle  and  bustle,  glancing  a small,  grey, 
prying  eye  round  the  table,  with  a most  restless  activity : 
this,  as  Lady  Nelthorpe  afterwards  informed  me,  was  a 
Miss  Trafford,  an  excellent  person  for  a Christmas  in  the 
country,  whom  everybody  was  dying  to  have  : she  was  an 
admirable  mimic,  an  admirable  actress,  and  an  admirable 
reciter ; made  poetry  and  shoes,  and  told  fortunes  by  the 
cards,  which  actually  came  true! 

There  was  also  Mr.  Wormwood,  the  noli-medangere 
of  literary  lions  — an  author  who  sowed  his  conversation 
not  with  flowers  but  thorns.  Nobody  could  accuse  him 
of  the  flattery  generally  imputed  to  his  species  : through 
the  course  of  a long  and  varied  life,  he  had  never  once 
been  known  to  say  a civil  thing.  He  was  too  much  dis- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


39 


liked  not  to  be  sought  after;  whatever  is  once  notorious, 
even  for  being  disagreeable,  is  sure  to  be  courted.  Oppo- 
site to  him  sat  the  really  clever,  and  affectedly  pedantic 
Lord  Yincent,  one  of  those  persons  who  have  been 
promising  young  men  all  their  lives  ; who  are  found 
till  four  o^clock  in  the  afternoon  in  a dressing-gown,  with 
a quarto  before  them ; who  go  down  into  the  country  for 
six  weeks  every  session,  to  cram  an  impromptu  reply ; 
and  who  always  have  a work  in  the  press  which  is  never 
to  be  published. 

Lady  Nelthorpe  herself  I had  frequently  seen.  She 
had  some  reputation  for  talent,  was  exceedingly  affected, 
wrote  poetry  in  albums,  ridiculed  her  husband,  (who  was 
a fox-hunter,)  and  had  a particular  taste  for  the  fine  arts. 

There  were  four  or  five  others  of  the  unknown  vulgar, 
young  brothers,  who  were  good  shots  and  bad  matches ; 
elderly  ladies,  who  lived  in  Baker-street,  and  liked  long 
whist ; and  young  ones,  who  never  took  wine,  and  said 
SirP^ 

I must,  however,  among  this  number,  except  the  beau- 
tiful Lady  Roseville,  the  most  fascinating  woman,  perhaps, 
of  the  day.  She  was  evidently  the  great  person  there, 
and,  indeed,  among  all  people  who  paid  due  deference  to 
(on,  was  always  sure  to  be  so  everywhere.  I have  never 
seen  but  one  person  more  beautiful.  Her  eyes  were  of 
the  deepest  blue  ; her  complexion  of  the  most  delicate 
carnation  ; her  hair  of  the  richest  auburn  ; nor  could  even 
Mr.  Wormwood  detect  the  smallest  fault  in  the  rounded 
yet  slender  symmetry  of  her  figure. 


40 


r E L TT  A M ; OR 


^Ithongb  not  above  twenty-five,  she  was  in  that  state 
in  which  alone  a woman  ceases  to  be  a dependant  — 
widowhood.  Lord  Roseville,  who  had  been  dead  about 
two  years,  had  not  survived  their  marriage  many  months  ; 
that  period  was,  however,  sufficiently  long  to  allow  him 
to  appreciate  her  excellence,  and  to  testify  his  sense  of  it . 
the  whole  of  his  unentailed  property,  which  was  very 
large,  he  bequeathed  to  her. 

She  was  very  fond  of  the  society  of  literary  persons, 
though  without  the  pretence  of  belonging  to  their  order. 
But  her  manners  constituted  her  chief  attraction  : while 
they  were  utterly  different  from  those  of  every  one  else, 
you  could  not,  in  the  least  minutiae,  discover  in  what  the 
difference  consisted  : this  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  real  test 
of  perfect  breeding.  While  you  are  enchanted  with  the 
effect,  it  should  possess  so  little  prominency  and  peculiarity, 
that  you  should  never  be  able  to  guess  the  cause. 

“Pray,”  said  Lord  Yincent  to  Mr.  Wormwood,  “have 
you  been  to  P this  year?” 

“ No,”  was  the  answer. 

“ I have,”  said  Miss  Trafford,  who  never  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity of  slipping  in  a word. 

“Well,  and  did  they  make  you  sleep,  as  usual,  at  the 
Crown,  with  the  same  eternal  excuse,  after  having  brought 
you  fifty  miles  from  town,  of  small  house  — no  beds  — all 
engaged — inn  close  by?  Ah,  never  shall  I forget  that 
inn,  with  its  royal  name,  and  its  hard  beds  — 

‘Uneasy  sleeps  a head  beneath  the  Crown  !” 

'‘Ha,  ha!  Excellent!”  cried  Miss  Trafford,  who  was 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


41 


always  the  first  in  at  the  death  of  a pun.  “ Yes,  indee^l 
they  did  : poor  old  Lord  Belton,  with  his  rheumatism  ; 
and  that  immense  General  Grant,  with  his  asthma;  to- 
gether with  three  ^single  men/  and  mys(df,  were  safely 
conveyed  to  that  asylum  for  the  destitute.” 

“Ah  ! Grant,  Grant ! ” said  Lord  Yineent,  eagerly,  who 
saw  another  opportunity  of  whipping  in  a pun  “ lie 
slept  there  also  the  same  night  I did  ; and  when  I saw 
his  unwieldy  person  waddling  out  of  the  door  the  next 
morning,  I said  to  Temple,  ‘ Well,  thaVs  the  larged  (Jrani 
I ever  from  the  Crown. ^ ^ 

“ Yery  good,”  said  Wormwood,  gravely.  “I  declare, 
Yineent,  you  are  growing  quite  witty.  You  know  Jekyl, 
of  course  ! Poor  fellow,  what  a really  good  punster  he 
was  — not  agreeable  though  — particularly  at  dinner  — 
no  punsters  are.  Mr.  Davison,  what  is  that  dish  next  to 
you  ? ” 

Mr.  Davison  was  a great  gourmand  : “ Salmi  de  per- 
dreaux  aux  truf^sf  replied  the  political  economist. 

“ Truffles  1 said  Wormwood,  “ have  you  been  eating 
any  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Davison,  with  unusual  energy,  “ and  they 
are  the  best  I have  tasted  for  a long  time.” 

“Yery  likely,”  said  Wormwood,  with  a dejected  air. 
“ I am  particularly  fond  of  them,  but  I dare  not  touch 
one  — truffles  are  so  very  apoplectic  — you,  I make  no 
doubt,  may  eat  them  in  safety.” 

* It  was  from  Mr.  J.  Smith  that  Lord  Vincent  purloined  this  pua 

4* 


42 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Wormwood  was  a tall,  meagre  man,  with  a neck  a yard 
long.  Davison  was^  as  I have  said,  short  and  fat,  and 
made  without  any  apparent  neck  at  all  — only  head  and 
shoulders,  like  a codfish. 

Poor  Mr.  Davison  turned  perfectly  white ; he  fidgeted 
about  in  his  chair ; cast  a look  of  the  most  deadly  fear 
and  aversion  at  the  fatal  dish  he  had  been  so  attentive  to 
before  ; and,  muttering  “ apoplectic  ! ” closed  his  lips, 
and  did  not  open  them  again  all  dinner-time. 

Mr.  Wormwood’s  object  was  effected.  Two  people 
were  silenced  and  uncomfortable,  and  a sort  of  mist  hung 
over  the  spirits  of  the  whole  party.  The  dinner  went  on 
and  off,  and  like  all  other  dinners  ; the  ladies  retired,  and 
the  men  drank,  and  talked  politics.  Mr.  Davison  left  the 
room  first,  in  order  to  look  out  the  word  “truffle,”  in  the 
Encyclopaedia ; and  Lord  Vincent  and  I went  next,  “lest 

( as  my  companion  characteristically  observed)  that  d ^ 

Wormwood  should,  if  we  stayed  a moment  lo:3ger,  *send 
us  weeping  to  our  beds.’” 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


48 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Oh  I la  belle  chose  que  la  Poste  ! * — Lettres  de  Sevigni, 

Ay  — but  who  is  it? — As  you  like  it, 

I HAD  mentioned  to  my  mother  my  intended  visit  to 
Garrett  Park,  and  the  second  day  after  my  arrival  there 
came  the  following  letter : — 

My  DEAR  Henry, 

I was  very  glad  to  hear  you  were  rather  better  tha 
you  had  been.  I trust  you  will  take  great  care  of  yourself. 
I think  flannel  waistcoats  might  be  advisable  ; and,  by- 
the-by,  they  are  very  good  for  the  complexion.  Apropos 
of  the  complexion  : 1 did  not  like  that  blue  coat  you  wore 
when  I last  saw  you  — you  look  best  in  black  — which  is 
a great  compliment,  for  people  must  be  very  distinguished 
in  appearance,  in  order  to  do  so. 

You  know,  my  dear,  that  those  Garretts  are  in  them- 
selves anything  but  unexceptionable  ; you  will,  therefore, 
take  care  not  to  be  too  intimate  ; it  is,  however,  a very 
good  house  ; most  whom  you  meet  there  are  worth  know- 
ing, for  one  thing  or  the  other.  Remember,  Henry,  that 
the  acquaintance  {not  the  friends)  of  second  or  third-rate 
people  are  always  sure  to  be  good:  they  are  not  inde- 
pendent enough  to  receive  whom  they  like  — their  whole 
rank  is  in  their  guests : you  may  be  also  sure  that  the 


* Oh  ! what  a beautiful  thing  is  — the  Post-office. 


44 


PELHAM;  OR, 


menage  will,  in  outward  appearance  atleast,  be  quite  comme 
il  fautj  and  for  the  same  reason.  Gain  as  much  knowledge 
de  Vart  culinaire  as  you  can:  it  is  an  accomplishment 
absolutely  necessary.  You  may  also  pick  up  a little 
acquaintance  with  metaphysics,  if  you  have  any  oppor- 
tunity; that  sort  of  thing  is  a good  deal  talked  about 
just  at  present. 

I hear  Lady  Roseville  is  at  Garrett  Park.  You  must 
be  particularly  attentive  to  her;  you  will  probably  now 
have  an  opportunity  de  faire  votre  cour  that  may  never 
again  happen.  In  London,  she  is  so  much  surrounded 
by  all,  that  she  is  quite  inaccessible  to  one  ; besides,  there 
you  will  have  so  many  rivals.  Without  flattery  to  you, 
I take  it  for  granted,  that  you  are  the  best-looking  and 
most  agreeable  person  at  Garrett  Park,  and  it  will,  there- 
fore, be  a most  unpardonable  fault,  if  you  do  not  make 
Lady  Roseville  of  the  same  opinion.  Nothing,  my  dear 
son,  is  like  a liaison  (quite  innocent  of  course)  with  a 
woman  of  celebrity  in  the  world.  In  marriage  a man 
lowers  a woman  to  his  own  rank  ; in  an  affaire  de  coeur 
he  raises  himself  to  her’s.  I need  not,  I am  sure,  after 
what  I have  said,  press  this  point  any  further. 

Write  to  me  and  inform  me  of  all  your  proceedings. 
If  you  mention  the  people  who  are  at  Garrett  Park,  I can 
tell  you  the  proper  line  of  conduct  to  pursue  with  each. 

“ I am  sure  that  I need  not  add  that  I have  nothing 
but  your  real  good  at  heart,  and  that  I am  your  very 
affectionate  mother, 


“ Frances  Pelham. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


45 


P.  S.  Never  talk  much  to  young  men  — remember 
that  it  is  the  women  who  make  a reputation  in  society.'^ 

said  I,  when  I had  read  this  letter,  my 
mother  is  very  right,  and  so  now  for  Lady  Roseville. 

I went  down  stairs  to  breakfast.  Miss  Trafford  and 
Lady  Nelthorpe  were  in  the  room,  talking  with  great 
interest,  and,  on  Miss  Trafford’s  part  with  still  greater 
vehemence. 

So  handsome,”  said  Lady  Nelthorpe,  as  I approached. 

‘‘Are  you  talking  of  me  ? ” said  1. 

“ Oh,  you  vanity  of  vanities  I ” was  the  answer.  “ No, 
we  were  speaking  of  a very  romantic  adventure  which  has 
happened  to  Miss  Trafford  and  myself,  and  disputing 
about  the  hero  of  it.  Miss  Trafford  declares  he  is  fright- 
ful ; I say  that  he  is  beautiful.  Now,  you  know,  Mr. 
Pelham,  as  to  you ” 

“ There  can  be  but  one  opinion  ; — but  the  adventure  ? ” 

“ Is  this  ! ” cried  Miss  Trafford,  in  great  fright,  lest 
Lady  Nelthorpe  should,  by  speaking  first,  have  the  pleasure 
of  the  narration. — “ We  were  walking,  two  or  three  days 
ago,  by  the  sea-side,  picking  up  shells  and  talking  about 
the  ‘Corsair,’  when  a large  fierce ” 

“ Man  I ” interrupted  I. 

“No,  cZop,”  (renewed  Miss  Trafford),  “flew  suddenly 
out  of  a cave,  under  a rock,  and  began  growling  at  dear 
Lady  Nelthorpe  and  me,  in  the  most  savage  manner 
imaginable.  He  would  certainly  have  torn  us  to  pieces 
if  a very  tall ” 

“ Not  so  very  tall  either,”  said  Lady  Nelthorpe. 


46 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Dear,  how  you  interrupt  one,”  said  Miss  Trafford, 
pettishly  ; well,  a very  short  man,  then,  wrapped  up  in 
a cloak ” 

In  a great-coat,”  drawled  Lady  Nelthorpe.  Miss 
Trafford  went  on  without  noticing  the  emendation, — • 
“ had  not,  with  incredible  rapidity,  sprung  down  the  rock 
and ” 

‘‘  Called  him  off,”  said  Lady  Nelthorpe. 

**  Yes,  called  him  off,”  pursued  Miss  Trafford,  looking 
round  for  the  necessary  symptoms  of  our  wonder  at  this 
very  extraordinary  incident. 

‘'What  is  the  most  remarkable,”  said  Lady  Nelthorpe, 
is,  that  though  he  seemed  from  his  dress  and  appearance 
to  be  really  a gentleman,  he  never  stayed  to  ask  if  we 
were  alarmed  or  hurt  — scarcely  even  looked  at  us ” 

(“I  don’t  wonder  at/Aa//”  said  Mr.  Wormwood,  who, 
with  Lord  Yincent,  had  just  entered  the  room  ;) 

" — and  vanished  among  the  rocks  as  suddenly  as  he 
appeared.” 

"Oh,  you've  seen  that  fellow,  have  you?”  said  Lord 
Yinccnt : " so  have  I,  and  a devilish  queer-looking  person 
he  is, — 

‘ The  balls  of  his  broad  eyes  roll’d  in  his  bead, 

And  glared  betwixt  a yellow  and  a red ; 

He  look’d  a lion  with  a gloomy  stare, 

And  o’er  his  eyebrows  hung  his  matted  hair. 

Well  remembered,  and  better  applied — eh,  Mr.  Pelhau'  ?” 

" Really,”  said  I,  “ I am  not  able  to  judge  of  the  appli- 
cation, since  I have  not  seen  the  hero.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


41 


**  Oh  ! it’s  admirable,”  said  Miss  Trafford,  “just  the 
description  I should  have  given  of  him  in  prose.  But 
pray,  where,  when,  and  how  did  you  see  him  ?” 

“ Your  question  is  religiously  mysterious,  triajuncta  in 
unOj^^  replied  Yincent ; “ but  I will  answer  it  with  the 
simplicity  of  a Quaker.  The  other  evening  I was  coming 
home  from  one  of  Sir  Lionel’s  preserves,  and  had  sent 

the  keeper  on  before,  in  order  more  undisturbedly  to ” 

“Con  witticisms  for  dinner,”  said  Wormwood. 

“To  make  out  the  meaning  of  Mr.  Wormwood’s  last 
work,”  continued  Lord  Yincent.  “ My  shortest  way  lay 
through  that  church-yard  about  a mile  hence,  which  is 
such  a lion  in  this  ugly  part  of  the  country,  because  it 
has  three  thistles  and  a tree.  J ust  as  I got  there,  I saw 
a man  suddenly  rise  from  the  earth,  where  he  appeared 
to  have  been  lying;  he  stood  still  for  a moment,  and  then 
(evidently  not  perceiving  me)  raised  his  clasped  hands  to 
heaven,  and  muttered  some  words  I was  notable  distinctly 
to  hear.  As  I approached  nearer  to  him,  which  I did 
with  no  very  pleasant  sensations,  a large  black  dog,  which, 
till  then,  had  remained  couchanty  sprang  towards  me  with 
a loud  growl, 

‘ Sonat  hie  de  nare  canina 
Litera,’ 

as  Persius  has  it.  I was  too  terrified  to  move  — 

‘ Obstupui  — steteruntque  comge  — ’ 

and  I should  most  infallibly  have  been  converted  into 
dog’s  meat,  if  our  mutual  acquaintance  had  not  started 


48 


PELHAM;  OR, 


from  his  rererie,  called  his  dog  by  the  very  appropriate 
name  of  Terror,  and  then,  slouching  his  hat  over  his  face, 
passed  rapidly  by  me,  dog  and  all.  I did  not  recover  the 
fright  for  an  hour  and  a quarter.  I walked  — ye  gods, 
how  I did  walk  ! — no  wonder,  by-the-by,  that  I mended 
my  pace,  for  as  Pliny  says  truly  — 

“ ‘ Timor  est  emendator  asperrimus.*  ” ♦ 

Mr.  Wormwood  had  been  very  impatient  during  this 
recital,  preparing  an  attack  upon  Lord  Yincent,  when 
Mr.  Davison,  entering  suddenly,  diverted  the  assault. 

Good  heavens  ! said  Wormwood,  dropping  his  roll, 
‘‘how  very  ill  you  look  to-day,  Mr.  Davison  ; face  flushed 
— veins  s^^^elled — oh,  those  horrid  truffles  ! Miss  Trafford, 
I’ll  trouble  you  for  the  salt.” 

* Most  of  the  quotations  from  Latin  or  French  authors,  inter- 
spersed throughout  this  work,  will  be  translated  for  the  convenience 
of  the  general  reader;  but  exceptions  will  be  made,  where  such 
quotations  (as  is  sometimes  the  case  when  from  the  mouth  of  Lord 
Vincent)  merely  contain  a play  upon  words,  which  are  pointless, 
out  of  the  language  employed,  or  which  only  iterate  or  illustrate, 
by  a characteristic  pedantry,  the  sentence  that  precedes  or  follows 
tuem 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


49 


CHAPTER  V. 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day, 

Or  the  flowery  meads  in  May; 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 

What  care  I how  fair  she  be  ? 

George  Withers. 

It  was  great  pity,  so  it  was. 

That  villanous  saltpetre  should  be  digged 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth. 

Which  many  a good  tall  fellow  had  destroy’d. 

First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV. 

Several  days  passed.  I had  taken  particular  pains 
to  ingratiate  myself  with  Lady  Roseville,  and,  so  far  as 
common  acquaintance  went,  I had  no  reason  to  be  dis- 
satisfied with  my  success.  Anything  else,  I soon  dis- 
covered, notwithstanding  my  vanity,  (which  made  no 
inconsiderable  part  in  the  composition  of  Henry  Pelham) 
was  quite  out  of  the  question.  Her  mind  was  wholly  of 
a different  mould  from  my  own.  She  was  like  a being, 
not  perhaps  of  a better,  but  of  another  world  than  myself : 
we  had  not  one  thought  or  opinion  in  common  ; we  looked 
upon  things  with  a totally  different  vision  ; I was  soon 
convinced  that  she  was  of  a nature  exactly  contrary  to 
what  was  generally  believed  — she  was  anything  but  the 
mere  mechanical  woman  of  the  world.  She  possessed 
great  sensibility,  and  even  romance  of  temper,  strong  pas- 
sions, and  still  stronger  imagination  ; but  over  all  these 
I.  — 5 D 


60 


PELHAM;  OR, 


deeper  recesses  of  her  character,  the  extreme  softness  and 
languor  of  her  manners  threw  a veil  which  no  superficial 
observer  could  penetrate.  There  were  times  when  I could 
believe  that  she  was  inwardly  restless  and  unhappy;  but 
she  was  too  well  versed  in  the  art  of  concealment,  to  suffer 
such  an  appearance  to  be  more  than  momentary. 

I must  own  that  I consoled  myself  very  easily  for  my 
want,  in  this  particular  instance,  of  that  usual  good  for- 
tune which  attends  me  wdth  the  divine  sex;  the  fact  was, 
that  I had  another  object  in  pursuit.  All  the  men  at  Sir 
Lionel  Garrett’s  were  keen  sportsmen.  Now,  shooting  is 
an  amusement  I was  never  particularly  partial  to.  I was 
first  disgusted  with  that  species  of  rational  recreation’  at 
a battue,  where,  instead  of  bagging  anything,  I was  nearly 
bagged,  having  been  inserted,  like  wine  in  an  ice-pail,  in 
a wet  ditch  for  three  hours,  during  which  time  my  hat 
had  been  twice  shot  at  for  a pheasant,  and  my  leather 
gaiters  once  for  a hare;  and  to  crown  all,  when  these 
several  mistakes  were  discovered,  my  intended  extermi- 
nators, instead  of  apologizing  for  having  shot  at  me,  were 
quite  disappointed  at  having  missed. 

Seriously,  that  same  ^.hooting  is  a most  barbarous 
amusement,  only  fit  for  majors  in  the  army,  and  royal 
dukes,  and  that  sort  of  people  ; the  mere  walking  is  bad 
enough,  but  embarrassing  one’s  arms,  moreover,  with  a 
gun,  and  one’s  legs  with  turnip-tops,  exposing  oneself  to 
the  mercy  of  bad  shots  and  the  atrocity  of  good,  seems  to 
me  only  a state  of  painful  fatigue,  enlivened  by  the  prob 
ability  of  being  killed. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  51 

This  digression  is  meant  to  signify,  that  I never  joined 
the  single  men  and  double  Mantons  that  went  in  and  off 
among  Sir  Lionel  Garrett’s  preserves.  I used,  instead,  to 
take  long  walks  by  myself,  and  found,  like  virtue,  my  own 
reward,  in  the  additional  health  and  strength  these  diurnal 
exertions  produced  me. 

One  morning,  chance  threw  into  my  way  a bonne  for- 
tune, which  I took  care  to  improve.  From  that  time  the 
family  of  a Farmer  Sinclair  (one  of  Sir  Lionel’s  tenants) 
was  alarmed  by  strange  and  supernatural  noises : one 
apartment  in  especial,  occupied  by  a female  member  of 
the  household,  was  allowed,  even  by  the  clerk  of  the  parish, 
a very  bold  man,  and  a bit  of  a sceptic,  to  be  haunted  ; 
the  windows  of  that  chamber  were  wont  to  open  and  shut, 
thin  airy  voices  confabulate  therein,  and  dark  shapes  hover 
thereout,  long  after  the  fair  occupant  had,  with  the  rest 
of  the  family,  retired  to  repose.  But  the  most  unaccount- 
able thing  was  the  fatality  which  attended  me,  and  seemed 
to  mark  me  out  for  an  untimely  death.  I,  who  had  so 
carefully  kept  out  of  the  way  of  gunpowder  as  a sports- 
man, very  narrowly  escaped  being  twice  shot  as  a ghost. 
This  was  but  a poor  reward  for  a walk  more  than  a mile 
long,  in  nights  by  no  means  of  cloudless  climes  and  starry 
skies;  accordingly  I resolved  to  “give  up  the  ghost  ’ in 
earnest  rather  than  in  metaphor,  and  to  pay  my  last  visit 
aad  adieus  to  the  mansion  of  Farmer  Sinclair.  The  night 
on  which  I executed  this  resolve,  was  rather  memorable 
in  my  future  history. 

The  rain  had  fallen  so  heavily  during  the  day,  as  to 


OF  5LL  m 


52 


PELHAM;  OR 


render  the  road  to  the  house  almost  impassable,  and  when 
it  was  time  to  leave,  I inquired  with  very  considerable 
emotion,  whether  there  was  not  an  easier  way  to  return. 
The  answer  was  satisfactory,  and  my  last  nocturnal  visit 
at  Farmer  Sinclair’s  concluded. 


CHAPTER  TI. 

Why  sleeps  he  not,  when  others  nre  at  rest?  — Byron. 

According  to  the  explanation  I had  received,  the  road 
I was  now  to  pursue  was  somewhat  longer,  but  much 
better,  than  that  which  I generally  took.  It  was  to  lead 

me  home  through  the  church-yard  of , the  sam#*,  by- 

the-by,  which  Lord  Vincent  had  particularized  in  his 
anecdote  of  the  mysterious  stranger.  The  night  was 
clear,  but  windy  : there  were  a few  light  clouds  passing 
rapidly  over  the  moon,  which  was  at  her  full,  and  shone 
through  the  frosty  air,  with  all  that  cold  and  transparent 
brightness  so  peculiar  to  our  northern  winters.  I walked 
briskly  on  till  I came  to  the  church-yard  ; I could  not  then 
help  pausing  (notwithstanding  my  total  deficiency  in  all 
romance)  to  look  for  a few  moments  at  the  exceeding 
beauty  of  the  scene  around  me.  The  church  itself  was 
extremely  old,  and  stood  alone  and  grey,  in  the  rude  sim- 
plicity of  the  earliest  form  of  gothic  architecture  : tv/o 
large  dark  yew-trees  drooped  on  each  side  over  tombs, 
which,  from  their  size  and  decorations,  appeared  to  be 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN 


53 


the  last  possession  of  some  quondam  lords  of  the  soil 
To  the  left,  the  ground  was  skirted  by  a thick  and  luxu- 
riant copse  of  evergreens,  in  the  front  of  which  stood  one 
tall,  naked  oak,  stern  and  leafless,  a very  token  of  desola- 
tion and  decay  ; there  were  but  few  grave-stones  scattered 
about,  and  these  were,  for  the  most  part,  hidden  by  the 
long  wild  grass  which  wreathed  and  climbed  round  them. 
Over  all,  the  blue  skies  and  still  moon  shed  that  solemn 
light,  the  effect  of.  which,  either  on  the  scene  or  the  feel- 
ings, it  is  so  impossible  to  describe. 

I was  just  about  to  renew  my  walk,  when  a tall,  dark 
figure,  wrapped  up  like  myself,  in  a large  French  cloak, 
passed  slowly  along  from  the  other  side  of  the  church, 
and  paused  by  the  copse  I have  before  mentioned.  I was 
shrouded  at  that  moment  from  his  sight  by  one  of  the  yew 
trees  ; he  stood  still  only  for  a few  moments  ; he  then 
flung  himself  upon  the  earth,  and  sobbed,  audibly,  even 
at  the  spot  where  I was  standing.  I was  in  doubt  whether 
to  wait  longer  or  to  proceed  ; my  way  lay  just  by  him, 
and  it  might  be  dangerous  to  interrupt  so  substantial  an 
apparition.  However,  my  curiosity  was  excited,  and  m^ 
feet  were  half  frozen,  two  cogent  reasons  for  proceeding; 
and,  to  say  truth,  I was  never  much  frightened  by  any 
thing  dead  or  alive. 

Accordingly  I left  my  obscurity,  and  walked  slowly 
onwards.  I had  not  got  above  three  paces  before  the 
figure  arose,  and  stood  erect  and  motionless  before  me 
His  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  the  moon  shone  full  upon  his 
countenance  ; it  was  not  the  wild  expression  of  intense 
5* 


54 


PELHAM;  OR, 


anguisli  which  dwelt  on  those  hueless  and  sunken  features, 
nor  their  quick  change  to  ferocity  and  defiance,  as  his  eye 
fell  upon  rne,  which  made  me  start  back  and  feel  my  heart 
stand  still ! Notwithstanding  the  fearful  ravages  graven 
in  that  countenance,  once  so  brilliant  with  the  graces  of 
boyhood,  I recognized,  at  one  glance,  those  still  noble 
and  striking  features.  It  was  Reginald  Glanville  who 
stood  before  me  ! I recovered  myself  instantly  ; I threw 
myself  towards  him,  and  called  him  by  his  name.  He 
turned  hastily ; but  I would  not  suffer  him  to  escape  ; I 
put  my  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  drew  him  towards  me. 

Glanville  ! ’’  I exclaimed,  it  is  I ! it  is  your  old  — old 
friend,  Henry  Pelham.  Good  Heavens  I have  I met  you 
at  last,  and  in  such  a scene  ? ” 

Glanville  shook  me  from  him  in  an  instant,  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  and  sank  down  with  one  wild  cry, 
which  went  fearfully  through  that  still  place,  upon  the 
spot  from  which  he  had  but  just  risen.  I knelt  beside 
him  ; I took  his  hand  ; I spoke  to  him  in  every  endearing 
term  that  I could  think  of  ;•  and,  roused  and  excited  as 
my  feelings  were,  by  so  strange  and  sudden  a meeting,  I 
felt  my  tears  involuntarily  falling  over  the  hand  which  I 
lieid  in  my  own.  Glanville  turned  ; he  looked  at  me  for 
v.ne  moment,  as  if  fully  to  recognize  me  ; and  then  throw- 
ing himself  in  my  arms,  wept  like  a child. 

It  was  but  a few  minutes  that  this  weakness  lasted  ; he 
rose  suddenly  — the  whole  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  chang-ed  — the  tears  still  rolled  in  large  drops,  down 
his  cheeks,  but  the  proud,  stern  character  which  the  fe^i 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


55 


tures  had  assumed,  seemed  to  deny  the  feelings  which  that 
feminine  weakness  had  betrayed. 

‘‘ Pelham,”  he  said,  you  have  seen  me  thus;  I had 
hoped  that  no  living  eye  would  — this  is  the  last  time  in 
which  I shall  indulge  this  folly.  God  bless  you  — we  shall 
meet  again  — and  this  night  shall  then  seem  to  you  like  a 
dream.” 

I would  have  answered,  but  he  turned  swiftly,  passed 
in  one  moment  through  the-  copse,  and  in  the  next  had 
disappeared. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

You  reach  a chilling  chamber,  where  you  dread 
Damps. — Crabbe’s  Borough 

I COULD  not  sleep  the  whole  of  that  night,  and  the  next 
morning  I set  off  early,  with  the  resolution  of  discovering 
where  Glanville  had  taken  up  his  abode;  it  was  evident 
from  his  having  been  so  frequently  seen,  that  it  must  be 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood. 

I went  first  to  Farmer  Sinclair’s ; they  had  often  re- 
marked him,  but  could  give  me  no  other  information.  I 
then  proceeded  towards  the  coast ; there  was  a small 
public-house  belonging  to  Sir  Lionel  close  by  the  sea 
shore  ; never  had  I seen  a more  bleak  and  dreary  prospect 
than  that  which  stretched  for  miles  around  this  miserable 
cabin.  How  an  innkeeper  could  live  there,  is  a mystery  to 
me  at  this  day  — I should  have  imagined  it  a spot  uioon 


66 


PELHAM;  OR, 

which  anything  but  a sea-gull  or  a Scotchman  would  have 
starved. 

Just  the  sort  of  place,  however,’^  thought  I,  “ to  hear 
something  of  Glanville.’’  I went  into  the  house;  I in- 
quired, and  heard  that  a strange  gentleman  had  been 
lodging  for  the  last  two  or  three  weeks  at  a cottage  about 
a mile  further  up  the  coast.  Thither  I bent  my  steps  ; 
and  after  having  met  two  crows,  and  one  officer  on  the 
preventive  service,  I arrived  safely  at  my  new  destination. 

It  was  a house  a little  better,  in  outward  appearance, 
than  the  wretched  hut  I had  just  left,  for  I observe  in  all 
situations,  and  in  all  houses,  that  “ the  public  ” is  not  too 
well  served  : but  the  situation  was  equally  lonely  and 
desolate.  The  house  itself,  which  belonged  to  an  indi- 
vidual, half-fisherman  and  half-smuggler,  stood  in  a sort 
of  bay,  between  two  tall,  rugged,  black  cliffs.  Before 
the  door  hung  various  nets  to  dry  beneath  the  genial 
warmth  of  a winter’s  sun  ; and  a broken  boat,  with  its 
keel  uppermost,  furnished  an  admirable  habitation  for  a 
hen  and  her  family,  who  appeared  to  receive  en  pension 
an  old  clerico-bachelor-looking  raven.  I cast  a suspicious 
glance  at  the  last-mentioned  personage,  which  hopped 
towards  me  with  a very  hostile  appearance,  and  entered 
the  threshold  with  a more  rapid  step,  in  consequence  of 
sundry  apprehensions  of  a premeditated  assault. 

I understand,”  said  I,  to  an  old,  dried,  brown  female, 
who  looked  like  a resuscitated  red-herring,  “that  a geu- 
tleman  is  lodging  here.” 

“ No,  sir,”  was  the  answer : “ he  left  us  this  morning.'' 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  5i? 

The  reply  came  upon  me  like  a shower-bath  ; I wag 
ooth  chilled  and  stunned  by  so  unexpected  a shock.  The 
old  woman,  on  my  renewing  my  inquiries,  took  me  up 
stairs,  to  a small,  wretched  room,  to  which  the  damps 
literally  clung.  In  one  corner  was  a flock-bed,  still  un- 
made, and  opposite  to  it,  a three-legged  stool,  a chair,  and 
an  antique  carved  oak  table,  a donation  perhaps  from  some 
squire  in  the  neighborhood  ; on  this  last  were  scattered 
fragments  of  writing-paper,  a cracked  cup  half  full  of 
ink,  a pen,  and  a broken  ramrod.  As  I mechanically  took 
up  the  latter,  the  woman  said,  in  a charming  pa^ozs,  which 
I shall  translate,  since  I cannot  do  justice  to  the  original : 
— “ The  gentleman,  sir,  said  he  came  here  for  a few  weeks 
to  shoot ; he  brought  a gun,  a large  dog,  and  a small 
portmanteau.  He  stayed  nearly  a month  ; he  used  to 
spend  all  the  mornings  in  the  fens,  though  he  must  have 
been  but  a poor  shot,  for  he  seldom  brought  home  any- 
thing ; and  we  fear,  sir,  that  he  was  rather  out  of  his. 
mind,  for  he  used  to  go  out  alone  at  night,  and  stay 
sometimes  till  morning.  However,  he  was  quite  quiet, 
and  behaved  to  us  like  a gentleman  ; so  it  was  no  business 
of  ours,  only  my  husband  does  think  — ” 

‘‘  Pray,’’  interrupted  I,  why  did  he  leave  you  so  sud- 
denly ? ” 

Lord,  sir,  I don’t  know ! but  he  told  us  for  several 
days  past  that  he  should  not  stay  over  the  week,  and  so 
we  were  not  surprised  when  he  left  us  this  morning  at 
seven  o’clock.  Poor  gentleman,  my  heart  bled  for  him 
when  I saw  him  look  so  pale  and  ill.” 


58 


PELHAM;  OR, 


And  here  I did  see  the  good  woman eyes  fill  with 
tears  : but  she  wiped  them  away,  and  took  advantage  of 
the  additional  persuasion  they  gave  to  her  natural  whine 
to  say,  If,  sir,  you  know  of  any  young  gentleman  who 
likes  fen-shooting,  and  wants  a nice,  pretty,  quiet  apart- 
ment— ” 

I will  certainly  recommend  this,”  said  1. 

‘‘You  see  it  at  present,”  rejoined  the  landlady,  “quite 
in  a litter  like  ; but  it  is  really  a sweet  place  in  summer/, 

“ Charming,”  said  I,  with  a cold  shiver,  hurrying  down 
the  stairs,  with  a pain  in  my  ear,  and  the  rheumatism  in 
my  shoulder. 

“And  this,”  thought  I,  “was  Glanville’s  residence  for 
nearly  a month  ! I wonder  he  did  not  exhale  into  a vapor, 
or  moisten  into  a green  damp.” 

I went  home  by  the  church-yard.  I paused  on  the  spot 
where  I had  last  seen  him.  A small  grave-stone  rose 
►above  the  mound  of  earth  on  which  he  had  thrown  him- 
self ; it  was  perfectly  simple.  The  date  of  the  year  and 
month  (which  showed  that  many  weeks  had  not  elapsed 
since  the  death  of  the  deceased)  and  the  initials  G.  D., 
made  the  sole  inscription  on  the  stone.  Beside  this  tomb 
was  one  of  a more  pompous  description,  to  the  memory 
of  a Mrs.  Douglas,  which  had  with  the  simple  tumulus 
nothing  in  common,  unless  the  initial  letter  of  the  surname, 
corresponding  with  the  latter  initial  on  the  neighboring 
grave-stone,  might  authorize  any  connection  between  them, 
not  supported  by  that  similitude  of  style  usually  found  io 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


59 


the  cenotaphs  of  the  same  family : the  one,  indeed,  might 
have  covered  the  grave  of  a humble  villager  — the  other, 
the  resting-place  of  the  lady  of  the  manor. 

I found,  therefore,  no  clue  for  the  labyrinth  of  surmise  ; 
and  I went  home,  more  vexed  and  disappointed  with  my 
daj^s  expedition  than  I liked  to  acknowledge  to  myself. 

Lord  Vincent  met  me  in  the  hall.  Delighted  to  see 

you,”  said  he;  I have  just  been  to (the  nearest 

town),  in  order  to  discover  what  sort  of  savages  abide 
there.  Great  preparations  for  a ball  — all  the  tallow 
candles  in  the 'town  are  bespoken  — and  I heard  a most 
uncivilized  fiddle, 

‘ Twang  short  and  sharp,  like  the  shrill  swallow’s  cry.’ 

The  one  milliner’s  shop  was  full  of  fat  squiresses,  buying 
muslin  ammunition,  to  make  the  hall  go  off;  and  the  attics, 
even  at  four  o’clock,  were  thronged  with  rubicund  damsels, 
who  were  already,  as  Shakspeare  says  of  waves  in  a storm; 


‘Curling  their  monstrous  heads.’” 


60 


PELHAM;  OB 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Jusqu’au  revoir  le  ciel  vous  tienne  tous  en  joie.  * — Moliekb. 

I WAS  now  pretty  well  tired  of  Garret  Park.  Lady 
Roseville  was  going  to  H , where  I also  had  an  invi- 

tation. Lord  Vincent  meditated  an  excursion  to  Paris. 
Mr.  Davison  had  already  departed.  Miss  Trafford  had 
been  gone,  God  knows  how  long,  and  I was  not  at  all  dis- 
posed to  be  left,  like  “the  last  rose  of  summer,’Mn  single 
blessedness  at  Garret  Park.  Vincent,  Wormwood,  and 
myself,  all  agreed  to  leave  on  the  same  day. 

The  morning  of  our  departure  arrived.  We  sat  down 
to  breakfast  as  usual.  Lord  Vincent’s  carriage  was  at  the 
door ; his  groom  was  walking  about  his  favorite  saddle- 
horse. 

“A  beautiful  mare  that  is  of  your’s,”  said  I,  carelessly 
looking  at  it,  and  reaching  across  the  table  to  help  myself 
to  the  pdU  de  foie  gras, 

“ Mare  1 ” exclaimed  the  incorrigible  punster,  delighted 
with  my  mistake  : “ I thought  that  you  would  have  been 
better  acquainted  with  jowv  propia  quce  maribus.” 

^^llumph  !”  said  Wormwood,  “when  I look  at  you,  I 
am  always  at  least  reminded  of  the  ^as  in  prcesenliP  ” 

Lord  Vincent  drew  up  and  looked  unutterable  anger 


* Heaven  keep  you  merry  till  we  meet  again. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


61 


Wormwood  went  on  with  his  dry  toast,  and  Lady  Rose- 
ville, who  that  morning  had,  for  a wonder,  come  down  to 
breakfast,  good-naturedly  took  off  the  bear.  Whether  or 
not  his  ascetic  nature  was  somewhat  modified  by  the  soft 
smiles  and  softer  voice  of  the  beautiful  countess,  I cannot 
pretend  to  say  ; but  he  certainly  entered  into  a conversation 
with  her,  not  much  rougher  than  that  of  a less  gifted 
individual  might  have  been.  They  talked  of  literature. 
Lord  Byron,  conversaziones,  and  Lydia  White.  * 

Miss  White, said  Lady  Roseville,  has  not  only  the 
best  command  of  language  herself,  but  she  gives  language 
to  other  people.  Dinner  parties,  usually  so  stupid,  are,  a 
her  house,  quite  delightful.  There,  I have  actually  seen 
English  people  look  happy,  and  one  or  two  even  almost 
natural.’^ 

^‘Ah  ! said  Wormwood,  ^‘that  is  indeed  rare.  With 
us  everything  is  assumption.  We  are  still  exactly  like  the 
English  suitor  to  Portia,  in  the  Merchant  of  Yenice.  We 
take  our  doublet  from  one  country,  our  hose  from  another, 
and  our  behavior  everywhere.  Fashion  with  us  is  like 
the  man  in  one  of  Le  Sage’s  novels,  who  was  constantly 
changing  his  servants,  and  yet  had  but  one  suit  of  livery, 
which  every  new  comer,  whether  he  was  tall  or  short,  fat 
or  thin,  was  obliged  to  wear.  We  adopt  manners,  however 
incongruous  and  ill  suited  to  our  nature,  and  thus  we 
always  seem  awkward  and  constrained.  But  Lydia  White’s 


L — 6 


* Written  before  the  death  of  that  lady. 


€2 


PELHAM;  OR, 


soirees  are  indeed  agreeable.  I remember  the  last  time  I 
dined  there,  we  were  six  in  number,  and  though  we  were 
not  blessed  with  the  company  of  Lord  Vincent,  the  con- 
versation was  without  ‘let  or  flaw.’  Every  one,  even 
S , said  good  things.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” cried  Lord  Vincent,  “ and  pray,  Mr.  Worm- 
wood, what  did  you  say  ? ” 

“ Why,”  answered  the  poet,  glancing  with  a significant 
.‘^neer  over  Vincent’s  somewhat  inelegant  person,  “ I 
thought  of  your  lordship’s  figure,  and  said  — grace  ! 

Hem  — hem  ! — ‘ Gratia  malorum  tarn  infida  est  quam 
ipsi,^  as  Pliny  says,”  muttered  Lord  Vincent,  getting  up 
hastily,  and  buttoning  his  coat. 

I took  the  opportunity  of  the  ensuing  pause  to  approach 
Lady  Roseville,  and  whisper  my  adieus.  She  was  kind 
and  even  warm  to  me  in  returning  them  ; and  pressed  me, 
with  something  marvellously  like  sincerity,  to  be  sure  to 
come  and  see  her  directly  she  returned  to  London.  I soon 
discharged  the  duties  of  my  remaining  farewells,  and  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  was  more  than  a mile  distant  from 
Garrett  Park  and  its  inhabitants.  I can’t  say  that  for  one 
who,  like  myself,  is  fond  of  being  made  a great  deal  of, 
there  is  anything  very  delightful  in  those  visits  into  the 
country.  It  may  be  all  well  enough  for  married  people, 
who,  from  the  mere  fact  of  being  married,  are  always 
entitled  to  certain  consideration,  put  — for  instance  — into 
a bed-room,  a little  larger  than  a dog-kennel,  and  accom- 
modated with  a looking-glass,  that  does  not  distort  one’s 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


63 


features  like  a paralytic  stroke.  But  we  single  men  suffer 
a plurality  of  evils  and  hardships,  in  intrusting  ourselves 
to  the  casualties  of  rural  hospitality.  We  are  thrust  up 
into  any  attic  repository  — exposed  to  the  mercy  of  rats 
and  the  incursions  of  swallows.  Our  lavations  are  per- 
formed  in  a cracked  basin,  and  we  are  so  far  removed  from 
human  assistance  that  our  very  bells  sink  into  silence 
before  they  reach  half-way  down  the  stairs.  But  two  days 
before  I left  Garret  Park,  I myself  saw  an  enormous  mouse 
run  away  with  my  shaving  soap,  without  any  possible 
means  of  resisting  the  aggression.  Oh  ! the  hardships  of 
a single  man  are  beyond  conception  ; and  what  is  worse, 
the  very  misfortune  of  being  single  deprives  one  of  all 
sympathy.  single  man  can  do  this,  and  a single  man 
ought  to  do  that,  and  a single  man  may  be  put  here,  and 
a single  man  may  be  sent  there,’^  are  maxims  that  I have 
been  in  the  habit  of  hearing  constantly  inculcated  and 
never  disputed  during  my  whole  life  ; and  so,  from  our  tare 
and  treatment  being  coarse  in  all  matters,  they  have  at 
last  grown  to  be  all  matters  in  course. 


64 


telham;  OB, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Therefore  to  France.  — Henry  IV, 

I WAS  rejoiced  to  find  myself  again  in  London.  I went 
to  my  father’s  house  in  Grosvenor-square.  All  the  family, 

viz.,  he  and  my  mother,  were  down  at  H ; and  despite 

my  aversion  to  the  country,  I thought  I might  venture  as 

far  as  Lady ’s  for  a couple  of  days.  Accordingly,  to 

H I went.  That  is  really  a noble  house — such  a hall 

• — such  a gallery  I I found  my  mother  in  the  drawing- 
room, admiring  the  picture  of  his  late  Majesty.  She  was 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  a tall,  fair  young  man.  “ Henry, 
said  she  (introducing  me  to  him),  do  you  remember  your 
old  school-fellow.  Lord  George  Clinton?” 

“ Perfectly,”  said  I (though  I remembered  nothing 
about  him),  and  we  shook  hands  in  the  most  cordial  man- 
ner imaginable.  By  the  way,  there  is  no  greater  bore  than 
being  called  upon  to  recollect  men,  with  whom  one  had 
been  at  school  some  ten  years  back.  In  the  first  place, 
if  they  were  not  in  one’s  own  set,  one  most  likely  scarcely 
knew  them  to  speak  to  ; and,  in  the  second  place,  if  they 
were  in  one’s  own  set,  they  are  sure  to  be  entirely  opposite 
to  the  nature  we  have  since  acquired  : for  I scarcely  ever 
knew  an  instance  of  the  companions  of  one’s  boyhood 
being  agreeable  to  the  tastes  of  one’s  manhood  : — a strong 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  65 

proof  of  the  folly  of  people,  who  send  their  sons  to  Eton 
and  Harrow  to  form  connections! 

Clinton  was  on  the  eve  of  setting  out  upon  his  travels 
His  intention  was  to  stay  a year  at  Paris,  and  he  was  full 
of  the  blissful  expectations  the  idea  of  that  city  had  con- 
jured  up.  We  remained  together  all  the  evening,  and 
took  a prodigious  fancy  to  one  another.  Long  before  I 
went  to  bed,  he  had  perfectly  inoculated  me  with  his  own 
ardor  for  continental  adventures  ; and,  indeed,  I had  half 
promised  to  accompany  him.  My  mother,  when  I first 
told  her  of  my  travelling  intentions,  was  in  despair,  but 
by  degrees  she  grew  reconciled  to  the  idea. 

Your  health  will  improve  by  a purer  air,’’  said  she, 
*‘and  your  pronunciation  of  French  is,  at  present,  any 
thing  but  correct.  Take  care  of  yourself,  therefore,  my 
dear  son,  and  pray  lose  no  time  in  engaging  Coulon  as 
your  maitre  de  dansed^ 

My  father  gave  me  his  blessing,  and  a cheque  on  his 
banker.  Within  three  days  I had  arranged  every  thing 
with  Clinton,  and,  on  the  fourth,  I returned  with  him  to 
London.  Thence  we  set  off  to  Dover — embarked — dined, 
for  the  first  time  in  our  lives,  on  French  ground  — were 
astonished  to  find  so  little  difference  between  the  two 
countries,  and  still  more  so  at  hearing  even  the  little 
children  talk  French  so  well* — proceeded  to  Abbeville — 
there  poor  Clinton  fell  ill : for  several  days  we  were  de- 
layed in  that  abominable  town,  and  then  Clinton,  by  the 


* See  Addison’s  Travels  for  this  idea. 


6* 


E 


66 


PELHAM;  OR, 


adyice  of  the  doctors,  returned  to  England.  I went  bach 
with  him  as  far  as  Dover,  and  then,  impatient  at  my  loss 
of  time,  took  no  rest,  night  or  day,  till  I found  myself  at 
Paris. 

Young,  well-born,  tolerably  good-looking,  and  never 
utterly  destitute  of  money,  nor  grudging  whatever  enjoy- 
ment it  could  procure,  I entered  Paris  with  the  ability  and 
the  resolution  to  make  the  best  of  those  beaux  jouri>  which 
so  rapidly  glide  from  our  possession. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Seest  thou  how  gayly  my  young  maister  goes? 

* Bishop  Hall’s  Satires. 

Qui  vit  sans  folie,  n’est  pas  si  sage  qu’il  croit.* 

La  Rochefoucault. 

I LOST  no  time  in  presenting  my  letters  of  introduction, 
and  they  were  as  quickly  acknowledged  by  invitations  to 
balls  and  dinners.  Paris  was  full  to  excess,  and  of  a bet- 
ter description  of  English  than  those  who  usually  overflow 
that  reservoir  of  the  world.  My  first  engagement  was  to 
(line  with  Lord  and  Lady  Bennington,  who  were  among 
the  very  few  English  intimate  in  the  best  French  houses. 

On  entering  Paris  I had  resolved  to  set  up  char- 
acter;^^ for  I wms  always  of  an  ambitious  nature,  and 
desirous  of  being  distinguished  from  the  ordinary  herd. 


* Who  lives  without  folly  is  not  so  wise  as  he  thinks. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


67 


After  various  cogitations  as  to  the  particular  one  I should 
assume,  I thought  nothing  appeared  more  likely  to  be 
obnoxious  to  men,  and  therefore  pleasing  to  women,  than 
an  egregious  coxcomb  : accordingly,  I arranged  my  hair 
into  ringlets,  dressed  myself  with  singular  plainness  and 
simplicity  (a  low  person,  by-the-by,  would  have  done  just 
the  contrary),  and,  putting  on  an  air  of  exceeding  lan- 
guor, made  my  maiden  appearance  at  Lord  Bennington’s. 
The  party  was  small,  and  equally  divided  between  French 
and  English  : the  former  had  been  all  emigrants,  and  the 
conversation  was  chiefly  in  our  own  tongue. 

I was  placed,  at  dinner,  next  to  Miss  Paulding,  an 
elderly  young  lady,  of  some  notoriety  at  Paris,  very  clever, 
very  talkative,  and  very  conceited.  A young,  pale,  ill- 
natured  looking  man,  sat  on  her  left  hand ; this  was  Mr. 
Aberton. 

Dear  me  ! ” said  Miss  Paulding,  what  a pretty  chain 
that  is  of  your’s,  Mr.  Aberton.” 

Yes,”  said  Mr.  Aberton,  “I  know  it  must  be  pretty, 
for  I got  it  at  Breguet’s,  with  the  watch.”  (How  common 
people  always  buy  their  opinions  with  their  goods,  and 
regulate  the  height  of  the  former  by  the  mere  price  or 
fashion  of  the  latter !) 

“Pray,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  Miss  Paulding,  turning  to 
me,  “ have  you  got  one  of  Breguet’s  v/atches  yet  ? ” 

“ Watch  ! ” said  I : “do  you  think  I could  ever  wear  a 
watch?  I know  nothing  so  plebeian.  What  can  any 
one,  but  a man  of  business,  w’ho  has  nine  hours  for  his 
eounting-nouse  and  one  for  his  dinner,  ever  possibly  want 


68 


PELHAM;  OR, 


to  know  the  time  for  ? * An  assignation,’  you  will  say: 

true,  but  — if  a man  is  worth  having,  he  is  surely  worth 
waiting  for  ! ” 

Miss  Paulding  opened  her  eyes,  and  Mr.  Aberton  his 
mouth.  A pretty,  lively  Frenchwoman  opposite  (Madame 
d’Anville)  laughed,  and  immediately  joined  in  our  con- 
versation, which,  on  my  part,  was,  during  the  whole  din- 
ner, kept  up  exactly  in  the  same  strain. 

Madame  d'Anville  was  delighted,  and  Miss  Paulding 
astonished.  Mr.  Aberton  muttered  to  a fat,  foolish  Lord 
Luscombe,  “ What  a damnation  puppy  ! ” — and  every  one, 

even  to  old  Madame  de  G s,  seemed  to  consider  me 

impertinent  enough  to  become  the  rage  ! 

As  for  me,  I was  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  effect  I had 
produced,  and  I went  away  the  first,  in  order  to  give  the 
men  an  opportunity  of  abusing  me  ; for  whenever  the  men 
abuse,  the  women,  to  support  alike  their  coquetry  and  the 
conversation,  think  themselves  called  upon  to  defend. 

The  next  day  I rode  into  the  Champs  Elysees.  I 
always  valued  myself  particularly  upon  my  riding,  and  my 
horse  was  both  the  most  fiery  and  the  most  beautiful  in 
Paris.  The  first  person  I saw  was  Madame  d’Anville. 
At  that  moment  I was  reinlTig  in  my  horse,  and  conscious, 
as  the  wind  waved  my  long  curls,  that  I was  looking  to 
the  very  best  advantage ; I made  my  horse  bound  towards 
her  carriage,  (which  she  immediately  stopped,)  and  made 
at  once  my  salutations  and  my  court. 

“ I am  going,”  said  she,  “to  the  Duchesse  D ’s  this 

evening  — it  is  her  night  — do  come.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


69 


don’t  know  her,”  said  1. 

*‘Tell  me  your  hotel,  and  I’ll  send  you  an  invitation 
before  dinner,”  rejoined  Madame  d’Anville. 

“I  lodg:e,”  said  I,  “at  the  Hotel  de  , Hue  de 

Rivoli,  on  the  second  floor  at  present;  next  year,  I suppose, 
according  to  the  usual  gradations  in  the  life  of  a gargoriy 
I shall  be  on  the  third  : for  here  the  purse  and  the  person 
seem  to  be  playing  at  see-saw  — the  latter  rises  as  the 
former  descends.” 

We  went  on  conversing  for  about  a quarter  of  an  hour, 
in  which  I endeavored  to  make  the  pretty  Frenchwoman 
believe  that  all  the  good  opinion  I possessed  of  myself  the 
day  before,  I had  that  morning  entirely  transferred  to  her 
account. 

As  I rode  home  I met  Mr.  Aberton,  with  three  or  four 
other  men  ; with  that  glaring  good-breeding,  so  peculiar 
to  the  English,  he  instantly  directed  their  eyes  towards  me 
in  one  mingled  and  concentrated  stare.  “ NHmporfej'^^ 
thought  I,  “they  must  be  devilish  clever  fellows  if  they 
can  find  a single  fault  either  in  my  horse  or  myself.” 


ro 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Liid ! what  a group  the  motley  scene  discloses, 

False  wits,  false  wives,  false  virgins,  and  false  spouses. 

Goldsmith’s  Epilogue  to  the  Comedy  of  the  Sisters. 

Madame  D’Anville  kept  her  promise  — the  invitation 
fvas  duly  sent,  and  accordingly,  at  half  past  ten,  to  the 
Rue  d’Anjou  I drove. 

The  rooms  were  already  full.  Lord  Bennington  was 
standing  by  the  door,  and  close  by  him,  looking  exceed- 
ingly distrait,  was  my  old  friend  Lord  Vincent.  They 
both  came  towards  me  at  the  same  moment.  Strive 
not,’^  thought  I,  looking  at  the  stately  demeanor  of  the 
one,  and  the  humorous  expression  of  countenance  in  the 
other  — strive  not.  Tragedy  nor  Comedy,  to  engross  a 
Garrick.’^  I spoke  first  to  Lord  Bennington,  for  1 knew 
he  would  be  the  sooner  despatched,  and  then  for  the  next 
quarter  of  an  hour  found  myself  overflowed  with  all  the 
witticisms  poor  Lord  Vincent  had  for  days  been  obliged 
VO  retain.  I made  an  engagement  to  dine  with  him  at 
V'ery’s  the  next  day,  and  then  glided  off  towards  Madame 
D’Anville. 

She  was  surrounded  with  men,  and  talking  to  each  with 
that  vivacity  w^hich,  in  a Frenchwoman,  is  so  graceful,  and 
in  an  Englishwoman  would  be  so  vulgar.  Though  her 
eyes  were  not  directed  towards  me,  she  saw  me  approach 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN, 


71 


by  that  instinctive  perception  which  all  coquettes  possess, 
and  suddenly  altering  her  seat,  made  way  for  me  beside 
her.  I did  not  lose  so  favorable  an  opportunity  of  gaining 
her  good  graces,  and  losing  those  of  all  the  male  animals 
around  her.  I sank  down  on  th  > vacant  chair  and  contrived, 
with  the  most  unabashed  effrontery,  and  yet,  with  the  most 
consummate  dexterity,  to  make  everything  that  I said 
pleasing  to  her,  revolting  to  some  one  of  her  attendants. 
Wormwood  himself  could  not  have  succeeded  better.  One 
by  one  they  dropped  off,  and  we  were  left  alone  among 
the  crowd.  Then,  indeed,  I changed  the  whole  tone  of 
my  conversation.  Sentiment  succeeded  to  satire,  and  the 
pretence  of  feeling  to  that  of  affectation.  In  short,  I was 
so  resolved  to  please  that  I could  scarcely  fail  to  succeed. 

In  this  main  object  of  the  evening  I was  not  however 
solely  employed.  I should  have  been  very  undeserving 
of  that  character  for  observation  which  I flatter  myself  I 
peculiarly  deserve,  if  I had  not,  during  the  three  hours  I 

stayed  at  Madame  D ’s,  conned  over  every  person 

remarkable  for  any  thing,  from  rank  to  a riband.  The 
Duchesse  herself  was  a fair,  pretty,  clever  woman,  with 
manners  rather  English  than  French.  She  was  leaning, 
at  the  time  I paid  my  respects  to  her,  on  the  arm  of  an 
Italian  count,  tolerably  well  known  at  Paris.  Poor 

0 il  I hear  he  is  since  married.  He  did  not 

deserve  so  heavy  a calamity  I 

Sir  Henry  Millington  was  close  by  her,  carefully  packed 
up  in  his  coat  and  waistcoat.  Certainly,  that  man  is  the 
best  padder  in  Europe. 


72 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Come  and  sit  by  me,  Millington,’’  cried  old  Lady 
Oldtown  ; I have  a good  story  to  tell  you  of  the  Due 
de 

Sir  Henry,  with  difficulty,  turned  round  his  magnificent 
head,  and  muttered  out  some  unintelligible  excuse.  The 
fact  was,  that  poor  Sir  Henry  was  not  that  evening  made 
to  sit  down  — he  had  only  his  standing  up  coat  on  I Lady 
Oldtown  — heaven  knows  — is  easily  consoled.  She  sup-  V 
plied  the  place  of  the  baronet  with  a most  superbly  mus- 
tachioed German. 

“ Who,”  said  I,  to  Madame  d’Anville,  are  those  pretty 
girls  in  white,  talking  with  such  eagerness  to  Mr.  Aberton 
and  Lord  Luscombe  ? ” 

What ! ” said  the  Frenchwoman,  have  you  been  ten 
days  in  Paris  and  not  been  introduced  to  the  Miss  Carltons  ? 

Let  me  tell  you  that  your  reputation  among  your  coun- 
trymen at  Paris  depends  solely  upon  their  verdict.” 

“And  upon  your  favor,”  added  I. 

“Ah  ; ” said  she,  “you  must  have  had  your  origin  in 
France  ; you  have  something  about  you  almost  Parisiand^ 

“Pray,”  said  I,  (after  having  duly  acknowledged  this 
compliment,  the  very  highest  that  a Frenchwoman  can 
bestow,)  “ what  did  you  really  and  candidly  think  of  our 
countrymen  during  your  residence  in  England  ? ” 

“ I will  tell  you,”  answered  Madame  d’Anville  ; “they 
are  brave,  honest,  generous,  niais  its  sont  denii-barbares 


But  they  arc  halt-barbarians. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


73  ' 


CHAPTEK,  XII. 

Pia  mater 

Plus  quam  se  sapere,  et  virtutibns  esse  priorem 
Vult,  et  ait  prope  vera.* — Hor.  Sat, 

Vere  {y)  mihi  festus  atras 

Eximet  curas. — Hor.  Or. 

The  next  morning  I received  a letter  from  mj  mother. 
^ My  dear  Henry/’  began  my  affectionate  and  incompar- 
able parent  — 

My  dear  Henry, 

‘‘You  have  now  fairly  entered  the  world,  and  though 
at  your  age  my  advice  may  be  but  little  followed,  my 
experience  cannot  altogether  be  useless.  I shall,  there- 
fore, make  no  apology  for  a few  precepts,  which  I trust 
may  tend  to  make  you  a wiser  and  a better  man. 

“ I hope,  in  the  first  place,  that  you  have  left  your  letter 
at  the  ambassador’s,  and  that  you  will  not  fail  to  go  there 
as  often  as  possible.  Pay  your  court  in  particular  to 
Lady . She  is  a charming  person,  universally  pop- 

ular, and  one  of  the  very  few  English  people  to  whom 
one  may  safely  be  civil.  Apropos  of  English  civility,  you 
have,  I hope,  by  this  time  discovered  that  you  have  to 

* With  sage  advice,  and  many  a sober  truth,  the  pious  mother 
moulds  to  shape  the  youth.  Hawke's  Paraphrase. 

The  application  of  the  second  motto  rests  solely  upon  an  untrans* 
datable  play  of  words. 


74 


PELHAM;  OB, 


assume  a very  different  manner  with  French  people  from 
that  with  our  own  countrymen  : with  us,  the  least  appear- 
ance of  feeling  or  enthusiasm  is  certain  to  be  ridiculed 
everywhere  ; but  in  France,  you  may  venture  to  seem  not 
quite  devoid  of  all  natural  sentiments  : indeed,  if  you  affect 
enthusiasm,  they  will  give  you  credit  for  genius,  and  they 
will  place  all  the  qualities  of  the  heart  to  the  account  of 
the  head.  You  know  that  in  England,  if  you  seem  de- 
sirous of  a person’s  acquaintance,  you  are  sure  to  lose  it ; 
they  imagine  you  have  some  design  upon  their  wives  or 
their  dinners  ; but  in  France  you  can  never  lose  by  polite- 
ness ; nobody  w’ill  call  your  civility  forwardness  and 

pushing.  If  the  Princesse  de  T , and  the  Duchesse  * 

(Je  D , ask  you  to  their  houses  (which  indeed  they 

will,  directly  you  have  left  your  letters),  go  there  two  or 
three  times  a week,  if  only  for  a few  minutes  in  the  even- 
ing. It  is  very  hard  to  be  acquainted  with  great  French 
people,  but  when  you  are,  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you  are 
not  intimate  with  them 

“ Most  English  people  have  a kind  of  diffidence  and 
scruple  at  calling  in  the  evening  — this  is  perfectly  mis- 
placed : the  French  are  never  ashamed  of  themselves, 
like  us,  w^hose  persons,  families,  and  houses  are  never  fit 
to  be  seen,  unless  they  are  dressed  out  for  a party. 

“ Don’t  imagine  that  the  ease  of  French  manners  is  at 
all  like  what  we  call  ease  : you  must  not  hmnge  on  your 
chair  — nor  put  your  feet  upon  a stool  — nor  forget  your- 
self for  one  single  moment,  when  you  are  talking  with 


romen. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN- 


75 


“ You  have  heard  a great  deal  about  the  gallantries  of 
the. French  ladies  ; but  remember  that  they  demand  infi- 
nitely greater  attention  than  English  women  do  ; and 
that  after  a month’s  incessant  devotion,  you  may  lose 
everything  by  a moment’s  neglect. 

*‘you  will  not,  my  dear  son,  misinterpret  these  hints. 
1 suppose,  of  course,  that  all  your  liaisons  are  platonic. 

“ Your  father  is  laid  up  with  the  gout,  and  dreadfully 
ill-tempered  and  peevish  ; however,  I keep  out  of  the 
way  as  much  as  possible.  I dined  yesterday  at  Lady 
Koseville’s  : she  praised  you  very  much,  said  your  man- 
ners were  particularly  good,  and  that  no  one,  if  he  pleased, 
could  be  at  once  so  brilliantly  original,  yet  so  completely 
hon  ton.  Lord  Vincent  is,  I understand,  at  Paris  ; though 
very  tiresome  with  his  learning  and  Latin,  he  is  exceed- 
ingly clever  and  much  in  vogue  ; be  sure  to  cultivate  his 
acquaintance. 

‘‘  If  you  are  ever  at  a loss  as  to  the  individual  character 
of  a person  you  wish  to  gain,  the  general  knowledge  of 
human  nature  will  teach  you  one  infallible  specific,  — 
jlattery  ! The  quantity  and  quality  may  vary  according 
to  the  exact  niceties  of  art ; but,  in  any  quantity  and  in 
any  quality,  it  is  more  or  less  acceptable,  and  therefore 
certain  to  please.  Only  never  (or  at  least  very  rarely) 
flatter  when  other  people,  besides  the  one  to  be  flattered, 
are  by ; in  that  case  you  offend  the  rest,  and  you  make 
even  your  intended  dupe  ashamed  to  be  pleased. 

“ In  general,  weak  minds  think  only  of  others,  and  yet 
seem  only  occupied  with  themselves  ; you,  on  the  contrary, 


76 


PELHAM;  OR, 


mnsi  appear  wholly  engrossed  with  those  about  you,  and 
yet  never  have  a single  idea  which  does  not  terminate  in 
yourself : a fool,  my  dear  Henry,  flatters  himself — a wise 
man  flatters  the  fool, 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  child,  take  care  of  your  health 
— don’t  forget  Coulon  ; and  believe  me  your  most  affec- 
tionate mother,  P.” 

By  the  time  I had  read  this  letter,  and  dressed  myself 
for  the  evening,  Vincent’s  carriage  was  at  the  door.  I 
hate  the  affectation  of  keeping  people  waiting,  and  went 
down  so  quickly  that  I met  his  facetious  lordship  upon 
the  stairs.  ^‘Devilish  windy,”  said  I,  as  we  were  getting 
into  the  carriage. 

Yes,”  said  Vincent;  ^^but  the  moral  Horace  reminds 
us  of  our  remedies  as  well  as  our  misfortune  — 

‘ Jnm  galeam  Pallas,  et  aegida, 

Currusque  — parat  * — 

viz.  : * Providence  that  prepares  the  gale,  gives  us  also  a 
great-coat  and  a carriage.’” 

We  were  not  long  driving  to  the  Palais  Royal.  Very’s 
was  crowded  to  excess — “A  very  low  set!”  said  Lord 
Vincent,  (who,  being  half  a liberal,  is  of  course  a thorough 
aristocrat,)  looking  round  at  the  various  English  who 
occupied  the  apartment. 

There  was,  indeed,  a motley  congregation  ; country 
esquires  ; extracts  from  the  universities  ; half-pay  officers; 
city  clerks  in  frogged  coats  and  mustachios ; two  or  three 
of  a better-looking  description,  but  in  reality  half  swind- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  V? 

/ers,  half  gentlemen  : all,  in  short,  fit  specimens  of  that 
wandering  tribe,  which  spread  over  the  continent  the 
renown  and  ridicule  of  good  old  England. 

Gargoriy  gargon,'^  cried  a stout  gentleman,  who  made 
one  of  three  at  the  table  next  to  us,  ''Donnez-nous  une 
sole  f rite  pour  un^  et  des  pommes  de  terre  pour  trois  ! 

“ Humph  ! said  Lord  Yincent ; fine  ideas  of  English 
taste  these  gargons  must  entertain  ; men  who  prefer  fried 
soles  and  potatoes  to  the  various  delicacies  they  can 
command  here,  might,  by  the  same  perversion  of  taste, 
prefer  Bloomfield’s  poems  to  Byron’s.  Delicate  taste 
depends  solely  upon  the  physical  construction  ; and  a 
man  who  has  it  not  in  cookery,  must  want  it  in  literature. 
Fried  sole  and  potatoes! ! If  I had  written  a volume, 
whose  merit  was  in  elegance,  I would  not  show  it  to  such 
a man  ! — but  he  might  be  an  admirable  critic  upon  ‘ Cob- 
bett’s  Register,’  or  ‘Every  Man  his  own  brewer.’” 

“Excessively  true,”  said  I ; “what  shall  we  order?” 

'^B'abordj  des  huitres  d'Ostende,^^  si\\d  Yincent;  “as 
to  the  rest,”  taking  hold  of  the  carte,  deliberare  utilia 
mora  utillissima  estd^^ 

We  were  soon  engaged  in  all  the  pleasures  and  pains 
of  a dinner. 

“ PetimuSj^^  said  Lord  Yincent,  helping  himself  to  some 

poulet  a VAusterlitZj  petimus  bene  vivere^ guod 

petis,  hie  est  ? ” f 

* To  deliberate  on  things  useful  is  the  most  useful  delay. 

fWe  seek  to  live  well  — what  you  seek  is  here. 


PELHAM;  OR 


Y8 

We  were  not,  however,  assured  of  that  fact  at  the  ter- 
mination of  dinner.  If  half  the  dishes  were  well  conceived 
and  better  executed,  the  other  half  were  proportionably 
bad.  Very  is,  indeed^  no  longer  the  prince  of  restaura- 
teurs. The  low  English  who  have  flocked  thither,  have 
entirely  ruined  the  place.  What  waiter  — what  cook  can 
possibly  respect  men  who  take  no  soup,  and  begin  with  a 
roti]  who  know  neither  what  is  good  nor  what  is  bad; 
who  eat  rognom  at  dinner  instead  of  at  breakfast,  and 
fall  into  raptures  over  sauce  Robert  and  pieds  de  cochon  ; 
who  cannot  tell,  at  the  first  taste,  whether  the  beaune  is 
premiere  qualite,  or  the  fricassee  made  of  yesterday’s 
chicken  ; who  suffer  in  the  stomach  after  a champignon^ 
and  die  with  indigestion  of  a tryffie"^  0 ! English  peo- 
“ pie,  English  people  ! why  can  you  not  stay  and  perish 
of  apoplexy  and  Yorkshire  pudding  at  home  ? 

By  the  time  we  had  drunk  our  coffee  it  was  considerably 
past  nine  o’clock,  and  Vincent  had  business  at  the  am- 
bassador’s before  ten  ; we  therefore  parted  for  the  night. 

What  do  you  think  of  Very’s  ?”  said  I,  as  we  were 
at  the  door. 

‘‘Why,”  replied  Vincent,  “when  I recall  the  astonish- 
ing heat  of  the  place,  which  has  almost  sent  me  to  sleep  ; 
the  exceeding  number  of  times  in  which  that  becasse  had 
been  re-roasted,  and  the  extortionate  length  of  our  bills, 
I say  of  Very’s,  what  Hamlet  said  of  the  world,  ‘TFeary, 
stale,  and  unj^jroftable  I ^ 


ADVENTUEES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  T9 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

I would  fight  with  proad  swords,  and  sink  point  on  the  first  plood 
drawn  like  gentleman’s. — The  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 

I STROLLED  idly  along  the  Palais  Royal  (which  English 
people,  in  some  silly  proverb,  call  the  capital  of  Paris, 
whereas  no  French  man  of  any  rank,  nor  French  woman 
of  any  respectability,  is  ever  seen  in  its  promenades)  till, 
being  somewhat  curious  to  enter  some  of  the  smaller 
I went  into  one  of  the  meanest  of  them,  took  up  a Jour- 
nal  des  Spectacles,  and  called  for  some  lemonade.  At  the 
next  table  to  me  sat  two  or  three  Frenchmen,  evidently 
of  inferior  rank,  and  talking  very  loudly  over  England 
and  the  English.  Their  attention  was  soon  fixed  upon 
me. 

Have  you  ever  observed  that  if  people  are  disposed  to 
think  ill  of  you,  nothing  so  soon  determines  them  to  do 
so  as  any  act  of  yours,  which,  however  innocent  and 
inoffensive,  differs  from  their  ordinary  habits  and  customs  ? 
No  sooner  had  my  lemonade  made  its  appearance,  than  I 
perceived  an  increased  sensation  among  my  neighbors  of 
the  next  table.  In  the  first  place,  lemonade  is  not  much 
drunk,  as  you  may  suppose,  amoug  the  French  in  winter; 
and,  in  the  second,  my  beverage  had  an  appearance  of 
ostentation,  from  being  one  of  the  dearest  articles  I could 
have  called  for.  Unhappily  I dropped  my  newspaper  — 


80 


PELHAM;  OR, 


it  fell  under  the  Frenchmen’s  table  ; instead  of  calling  tho 
garqorif  I was  foolish  enough  to  stoop  for  it  myself.  It 
was  exactly  under  the  feet  of  one  of  the  Frenchmen  ; I 
asked  him  with  the  greatest  civility,  to  move  ; he  made 
no  reply.  I could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  refrain  from 
giving  him  a slight,  very  slight  push  ; the  next  moment 
he  moved  in  good  earnest ; the  whole  party  sprung  up  as 
he  set  the  example.  The  offended  leg  gave  three  terrific 
stamps  upon  the  ground,  and  I was  immediately  assailed 
by  a whole  volley  of  unintelligible  abuse.  At  that  time 
I was  very  little  accustomed  to  French  vehemence,  and 
perfectly  unable  to  reply  to  the  vituperations  I received. 

Instead  of  answering  them,  I therefore  deliberated 
what  was  best  to  be  done.  If,  thought  I,  I walk  away, 
they  will  think  me  a coward,  and  insult  me  in  the  streets  ; 
if  I challenge  them,  I shall  have  to  fight  with  men  proba- 
bly no  better  than  shopkeepers  ; if  I strike  this  most 
noisy  amongst  them,  he  may  be  silenced,  or  he  may  de- 
mand satisfaction  : if  the  former,  well  and  good  ; if  the 
latter,  why  I shall  have  a better  excuse  for  fighting  him 
than  I should  have  now. 

My  resolution  was  therefore  taken.  I was  never  more 
free  from  passion  in  my  life,  and  it  was,  therefore,  with 
the  utmost  calmness  and  composure  that,  in  the  midst  of 
my  antagonist’s  harangue,  I raised  my  hand  and — quietly 
knocked  him  down. 

He  rose  in  a moment.  ‘‘Sorfo7?s,”  said  he,  in  a low 
tone,  ‘‘a  Frenchman  never  forgives  a blow  I’’ 

At  that  moment,  an  Englishman,  who  had  been  sitting 


B) 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 

unnoticed  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  cafe,  came  up  and 
took  me  aside. 

Sir,^^  said  be,  don’t  think  of  fighting  the  man  ; he 
is  a tradesman  in  the  Bue  St.  Honore.  I myself  have 
seen  him  behind  the  counter  ; remember  that  ' a ram  may 
hill  a butcher.'^ 

'‘Sir,”  I replied,  “I  thank  you  a thousand  times  for 
your  information.  Fight,  however,  I must,  and  I’ll  give 
you,  like  the  Irishman,  my  reasons  afterwards : perhaps 
you  will  be  my  second.” 

“With  pleasure,”  said  the  Englishman  (a  Frenchman 
would  have  said,  with  painP^) 

We  left  the  cafe  together.  My  countryman  asked  them 
if  he  should  go  to  the  gunsmith’s  for  the  pistols. 

“ Pistols  ! ” said  the  Frenchman’s  second  ; “ we  will 
only  fight  with  swords.” 

“ No,  no,”  said  my  new  friend.  ^ On  ne  prend  pas  le 
liex')re  au  tambourind  We  are  the  challenged,  and  there- 
fore have  the  choice  of  weapons.” 

Luckily  I overheard  this  dispute,  and  called  to  my 
second — “Swords  or  pistols,”  said  I;  “it  is  quite  the 
same  to  me.  I am  not  bad  at  either,  only  do  make  haste.” 

Swords,  then,  were  chosen,  and  soon  procured.  French- 
men never  grow  cool  upon  their  quarrels  : and  as  it  was 
a fine,  clear,  star-light  night,  we  went  forthwith  to  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  We  fixed  our  ground  on  a spot 
tolerably  retired,  and,  I should  think,  pretty  often  fre- 
quented for  the  same  purpose.  I was  exceedingly  confi- 
dent, for  I knew  myself  to  have  few  equals  in  the  art  of 

F 


82 


PELHAM;  OR, 


fencing  ; and  I had  all  the  advantage  of  coolness,  which 
my  hero  was  a great  deal  too  much  in  earnest  to  possess. 
We  joined  swords,  and  in  a very  few  moments  I discovered 
that  my  opponent’s  life  was  at  my  disposal. 

“ G'est  thought  I ; for  once  I’ll  behave  hand- 

somely.” 

The  Frenchman  made  a desperate  lunge.  I struck  his 
sword  from  his  hand,  caught  it  instantly,  and,  presenting 
it  to  him  again,  said  — 

I think  myself  peculiarly  fortunate  that  I may  now 
apologize  for  the  affront  I have  put  upon  you.  Will 
you  permit  my  sincerest  apologies  to  suffice  ? A man 
who  can  so  well  resent  an  injury,  can  forgive  one.” 

Was  there  ever  a Frenchman  not  taken  by  a fine  phrase  ? 
My  hero  received  the  sword  with  a low  bow  — the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes. 

Sir,”  said  he,  “you  have  twice  conquered.” 

We  left  the  spot  with  the  greatest  amity  and  affection, 
and  re-entered,  with  a profusion  of  bows,  our  several 
fiacres, 

“ Let  me,”  I said,  when  I found  myself  alone  with  my 
second,  “ let  me  thank  you  most  cordially  for  your  assist- 
ance ; and  allow  me  to  cultivate  an  acquaintance  so  sin- 
gularly begun.  I lodge  at  the  Hotel  de , Rue  de 

Rivoli]  my  name  is  Pelham.  Yours  is — ” 

“Thornton,”  replied  my  countryman.  “I  will  lose  no 
time  in  profiting  by  an  offer  of  acquaintance  which  does 
me  so  much  honor.’^ 

With  these  and  various  other  fine  speeches,  we  employed 


ADVENTUKES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  83 

the  time  till  I was  set  down  at  ray  hotel ; and  my  com- 
panion, drawing  his  cloak  round  him,  departed  on  foot, 
to  fulfil  (he  sr.id,with  a mysterious  air)  a certain  assigna- 
tion in  the  Faubourg  SL  Germain. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Erat  homo  iogeniosus,  acutus,  acer,  et  qui  plurimum  et  saas 
haberet  et  fellis,  nec  candoris  minus.*  — Pliny. 

I DO  not  know  a more  difiBcult  character  to  describe 
than  Lord  Vincent’s.  Did  I imitate  certain  writers,  who 
think  that  the  whole  art  of  portraying  individual  character 
is  to  seize  hold  of  some  prominent  peculiarity  and  to 
introduce  this  distinguishing  trait,  in  all  times  and  in  all 
scenes,  the  difiSculty  would  be  removed.  I should  only 
have  to  present  to  the  reader  a man,  whose  conversation 
was  nothing  but  alternate  jest  and  quotation — a due  union 
of  Yorick  and  Partridge.  This  would,  however,  be  ren- 
dering great  injustice  to  the  character  I wish  to  delineate. 
There  were  times  when  Vincent  was  earnestly  engrossed 
in  discussion  in  which  a jest  rarely  escaped  him,  and  quo- 
tation was  introduced  only  as  a serious  illustration,  not 
as  a humorous  peculiarity.  lie  possessed  great  miscel- 
laneous erudition,  and  a memory  perfectly  surprising  for 
its  fidelity  and  extent.  He  was  a severe  critic,  and  had 

* “He  was  a clever  and  able  man — acute,  sharp — with  abundance 
cf  wit  an'  no  less  of  candor. — Coore.*' 


84 


PELHAM;  OR, 


a peculiar  art  of  quoting  from  each  author  he  reviewed, 
some  part  that  particularly  told  against  him.  Like  roost 
men,  if  in  the  theory  of  pliilosophy  he  was  tolerably  rigid, 
in  iis  practice  he  was  more  than  tolerably  loose.  By  hi? 
tenets  you  would  have  considered  him  a very  Cato  for 
stubbornness  and  sternness : yet  was  he  a very  child  in 
his  concession  to  the  whim  of  the  moment.  Fond  of  med- 
itation and  research,  he  was  still  fonder  of  mirth  and 
amusement ; and  while  he  was  among  the  most  instructive, 
he  was  also  the  boonest,  of  companions.  When  alone 
with  me,  or  with  men  whom  he  imagined  like  me,  his 
pedantry  (for  more  or  less,  he  always  was  pedantic)  took 
only  a Jocular  tone  ; with  the  savant  or  the  hel  esprit,  it 
became  grave,  searching,  and  sarcastic.  He  was  rather  a 
contradicter  than  a favorer  of  ordinary  opinions  : and  this, 
perhaps,  led  him  not  unoften  into  paradox  : yet  was  there 
much  soundness,  even  in  his  most  vehement  notions,  and 
the  strength  of  mind  which  made  him  think  only  for  him- 
self, was  visible  in  all  the  productions  it  created.  I have 
hitherto  only  given  his  conversation  in  one  of  its  moods; 
henceforth  I shall  be  just  enough  occasionally  to  be  dull, 
and  to  present  it  sometimes  to  the  reader  in  a gra  ver  tone. 

Buried  deep  beneath  the  surface  of  his  character,  was 
a hidden,  yet  a restless  ambition  : but  this  was  perhaps, 
at  present,  a secret  even  to  himself.  We  know  not  our 
own  characters  till  time  teaches  us  self-knowledge  : if  we 
arii  wise,  we  may  thank  ourselves ; if  we  are  great,  we 
must  thank  fortune. 

It  was  this  insight  into  Vincent’s  nature  which  drew  U3 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


85 


closer  together.  I recognized  in  the  man,  who  as  yet  was 
playing  a part,  a resemblance  to  myself,  while  he,  perhaps, 
saw  at  times  that  I was  somewhat  better  than  the  volup- 
tuary, and  somewhat  wiser  than  the  coxcomb,  which  were 
all  that  at  present  it  suited  me  to  appear. 

In  person,  Vincent  was  short,  and  ungracefully  formed 

but  his  countenance  was  singularly  fine.  His  eyes  were 
dark,  bright  and  penetrating,  and  his  forehead  (high  and 
thoughtful)  corrected  the  playful  smile  of  his  mouth,  which 
might  otherwise  have  given  to  his  features  too  great  an 
expression  of  levity.  He  was  not  positively  ill-dressed, 
yet  he  paid  no  attention  to  any  external  art,  except  clean- 
liness. His  usual  garb  was  a brown  coat,  much  too  large 
for  him,  a colored  neckcloth,  a spotted  waist-coat,  grey 
trowsers,  and  short  gaiters  : add  to  these  gloves  of  most 
unsullied  doe-skin,  and  a curiously  thick  cane,  and  the 
portrait  is  complete. 

In  manners,  he  was  civil  or  rude,  familiar,  or  distant,  just 
as  the  whim  seized  him  ; never  was  there  any  address  less 
common,  and  less  artificial.  What  a rare  gift,  by-the-by, 
is  that  of  manners!  how  difficult  to  define  — how  much 
more  difficult  to  impart  I Better  for  a man  to  possess  them, 
than  wealth,  beauty,  or  even  talent,  if  it  fall  short  of 
genius  — they  will  more  than  supply  all.  He  who  enjoys 
their  advantages  in  the  highest  degree  ; viz.,  he  who  can 
please,  penetrate,  persuade,  as  the  object  may  require, 
possesses  the  subtlest  secret  of  the  diplomatist  and  the 
statesman,  and  wants  nothing  but  luck  and  opportunity  to 
become  greaV^ 
l.—S 


80 


PEiillAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Le  plaisir  de  la  soci^t^  entre  les  amis  se  cultive  par  une  ressem* 
blance  de  gout  sur  ce  qui  regarde  les  moeurs,  et  par  quelque  diflP4renca 
d’opinions  sur  les  sciences ; par  la  ou  Ton  s’affermit  dans  ses 
sentiments,  ou  Ton  s’exerce  et  Ton  s’intruit  par  la  dispute.*  — La 
Bruyere. 

There  was  a party  at  Monsieur  de  V e’s,  to 

which  Vincent  and  myself  were  the  only  Englishmen 
invited  : accordingly,  as  the  Hotel  de  V.  was  in  the  same 
street  as  my  hotel,  we  dined  together  at  my  rooms,  and 
walked  thence  to  the  minister’s  house. 

The  party  was  as  stiff  and  formal  as  such  assemblies 
invariably  are,  and  we  were  both  delighted  when  we  espied 
Monsieur  d’A~ — , a man  of  much  conversational  talent, 
and  some  celebrity  as  an  ultra  writer,  forming  a little  group 
in  one  corner  of  the  room. 

We  took  advantage  of  our  acquaintance  with  the  urbane 
Frenchman  to  join  his  party  ; the  conversation  turned 
almost  entirely  on  literary  subjects.  Allusion  being  made 
to  Schlegel’s  History  of  Literature,  and  the  severity  with 
which  he  speaks  of  Helvetius,  and  the  philosophers  of  his 


* The  pleasure  of  society  amongst  friends  is  cultivated  by  resem- 
blance of  taste  as  to  manners,  but  some  difference  of  opinion  as 
to  mental  acquisitions.  Thus  while  it  is  confirmed  by  congeniality 
of  sentiments,  it  gains  exercise  and  instruction  by  intellectual 
discussion. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  87 

school,  we  began  to  discuss  what  barm  the  freethinkers  in 
philosophy  had  effected. 

“ For  my  part,”  said  Vincent,  I am  not  able  to  divine 
why  we  are  supposed,  in  works  where  there  is  much  truth, 
and  little  falsehood,  much  good,  and  a little  evil,  to  see  only 
the  evil  and  the  falsehood,  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  the 
truth  and  the  good.  All  men  whose  minds  are  sufficiently 
laborious  or  acute  to  love  the  reading  of  metaphysical 
inquiries,  will  by  the  same  labor  and  acuteness  separate 
the  chaff  from  the  corn  — the  false  from  the  true.  It  is 
the  young,  the  light,  the  superficial,  who  are  easily  misled 
by  error,  and  incapable  of  discerning  its  fallacy ; but  tell 
me  if  it  is  the  light,  the  young,  the  superficial,  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  reading  the  abstruse  and  subtle  speculations 
of  the  philosopher.  No,  no  ! believe  me  that  it  is  the  very 
studies  Monsieur  Schlegel  recommends  which  do  harm  to 
morality  and  virtue  ; it  is  the  study  of  literature  itself, 
the  play,  the  poem,  the  novel,  which  all  minds,  however 
frivolous,  can  enjoy  and  understand,  that  constitute  the 
real  foes  of  religion  and  moral  improvement.” 

foif  cried  Monsieur  de  G.,  (who  was  a little 
writer,  and  a great  reader,  of  romances,)  why  you  would 
not  deprive  us  of  the  politer  literature  — you  would  not 
bid  us  shut  up  our  novels,  and  burn  our  theatres  I ” 

“ Certainly  not ! ” replied  Vincent ; ''  and  it  i»  in  this 
particular  that  I differ  from  certain  modern  philosophers  of 
our  own  country,  for  whom,  for  the  most  part,  I entertain 
the  highest  veneration.  I would  not  deprive  life  of  a single 
grace.,  or  a single  enjoyment;  but  I would  counteract 


88 


PELHAM;  OR, 


whatever  is  pernicious  in  whatever  is  elegant : if  among 
ray  flowers  there  is  a snake,  I would  not  root  up  my  flowers, 
I would  kill  the  snake.  Thus,  who  are  they  that  derive 
from  fiction  and  literature  a prejudicial  effect?  We  have 
seen  already  — the  light  and  superficial  ? — hut  who  are 
they  that  derive  profit  from  them  ? — they  who  enjoy  well 
regulated  and  discerning  minds;  who  pleasure?  — all 
mankind!  Would  it  not  therefore  be  better,  instead  of 
depriving  some  of  profit,  and  all  of  pleasure,  by  banishing 
poetry  and  fiction  from  our  Utopia,  to  correct  the  minds 
which  find  evil,  where,  if  they  were  properly  instructed, 
they  would  find  good  ? Whether  we  agree  with  Helvetius, 
that  all  men  are  born  with  an  equal  capacity  of  improve- 
ment, or  merely  go  the  length  with  all  other  metaphysicians, 
that  education  can  improve  the  human  mind  to  an  extent 
yet  incalculable,  it  must  be  quite  clear,  that  we  can  give 
sound  views,  instead  of  fallacies,  and  make  common  truths 
as  easy  to  discern  and  adopt  a^common  errors.  But  if 
we  effect  this,  which  we  all  allow  is  so  easy,  with  our 
children;  if  we  strengthen  their  minds,  instead  of  weakening 
them,  and  clear  their  vision,  rather  than  confuse  it,  from 
that  moment,  we  remove  the  prejudicial  effects  of  fiction, 
and  just  as  we  have  taught  them  to  use  a knife,  without 
cutting  their  fingers,  we  teach  them  to  make  use  of  fiction 
without  perverting  it  to  their  prejudice.  What  philoscpher 
was  ever  hurt  by  reading  tlie  novels  of  L * * *,  or  seeing 
the  comedies  of  Moliere  ? You  understand  me,  then, 
Monsieur  de  G.,  I do,  it  is  true,  think  that  polite  literature 
(as  it  is  termed)  is  prejudicial  to  the  superficial,  but,  for 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  89 

tliat  reason,  I would  not  do  away  with  the  literature,  I 
would  do  away  with  the  superficial.’^ 

“ I deny,”  said  M.  d’A , “ that  this  is  so  easy  a 

task  — you  cannot  make  all  men  wise.” 

‘^No,”  replied  Yincent  1 “but  you  can  all  children,  at 
least  to  a certain  extent.  Since  you  cannot  deny  the 
prodigious  effects  of  education,  you  mu^t  allow  that  they 
will,  at  least,  give  common  sense  ; for  if  they  cannot  do 
this,  they  can  do  nothing.  Now,  common  sense  is  all 
that  is  necessary  to  distinguish  what  is  good  and  evil, 
whether  it  be  in  life  or  in  books  : but  then  your  education 
must  not  be  that  of  public  teaching  and  private  fooling  ; 
you  must  not  counteract  the  effects  of  common  sense  by 
instilling  prejudice,  or  encoraging  weakness;  your  educa- 
tion may  not  be  carried  to  the  utmost  goal,  but  as  far  as 
it  does  go,  you  must  see  that  the  road  is  clear.  Now,  for 
instance,  with  regard  to  fiction,  you  must  not  first,  as  is 
done  in  all  modern  education,  admit  the  disease,  and  then 
dose  with  warm  water  to  expel  it : you  must  not  put 
fiction  in  your  child’s  hands  and  not  give  him  a single 
principle  to  guide  his  judgment  respecting  it,  till  his  mind 
has  got  wedded  to  the  poison,  and  too  weak,  by  its  long 
use,  to  digest  the  antidote.  No  : first  fortify  his  intellect 
by  reason,  and  you  may  then  please  his  fancy  by  fiction. 
Do  not  excite  his  imagination  with  love  and  glory,  till 
you  can  instruct  his  judgment  as  to  what  love  and  glory 
are.  Teach  hiQi,  in  short,  to  reflect,  before  you  permit 
him  full  indulgence  to  iniagme.'*^ 

Q.ere  there  was  a pause.  Monsieur  D’A looked 

8* 


90 


PELHAM;  OR, 


very  ill-pleased,  and  poor  Monsieur  de  G thought 

that  somehow  or  other  his  romance  writing  was  called  into 
question.  In  order  to  soothe  them,  I introduced  some 
subject  which  permitted  a little  national  flattery ; the  con- 
versation then  turned  insensibly  on  the  character  of  the 
French  people. 

“Never,”  said  Vincent,  “has  there  been  a character 
more  often  descibed  — never  one  less  understood*  You 
have  been  termed  superficial.  I think,  of  all  people,  that 
you  least  deserve  the  accusation.  With  regard  to  the  feii\ 
your  philosophers,  your  mathematicians,  your  men  of 
science,  are  consulted  by  those  of  other  nations,  as  some 
of  their  profoundest  authorities.  With  regard  to  the  many^ 
the  charge  is  still  more  unfounded.  Compare  your  mob, 
whether  of  gentlemen  or  plebeians,  to  those  of  Germany, 
Italy  — even  England  — and  I own,  in  spite  of  my  na- 
tional prepossessions,  that  the  comparison  is  infinitely  in 
your  favor.  The  country  gentleman,  the  lawyer,  the  petit 
maitre  of  England,  are  proverbially  inane  and  ill-informed. 
With  you,  the  classes  of  society  that  answer  to  those 
respective  grades,  have  much  information  in  literature, 
and  often  not  a little  in  science.  In  like  manner,  your 
tradesmen,  and  your  servants,  are  of  better  cultivated  and 
less  prejudiced  minds  than  those  ranks  in  England.  The 
fact  is,  that  all  with  you  pretend  to  be  savans,  and  this  is 
the  chief  reason  why  you  have  been  censured  as  shallow. 
We  see  your  fine  gentleman,  or  j ouv  petit  bourgeois,  give 
himself  the  airs  of  a critic  or  a philosopher  ; and  because 
he  is  neither  a Scaliger  nor  a Newton,  we  forget  that  he 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  91 

h only  the  bourgeois  or  the  petit  maitrej  and  brand  all 
your  philosophers  and  critics  with  the  censure  of  super- 
ficiality, which  this  shallow  individual  of  a shallow  order 
may  justly  have  deserved.  We,  the  English,  it  is  true,  do 
not  expose  ourselves  thus  : our  dandies,  our  tradesmen,  do 
not  vent  second-rate  philosophy  on  the  human  mind,  nor 
on  les  beaux  arts:  but  why  is  this?  Not  because  they 
are  better  informed  than  their  correspondent  ciphers  in 
France,  but  because  they  are  much  worse  informed  ; not 
because  they  can  say  a great  deal  more  on  the  subject,  but 
because  they  can  say  nothing  at  all.” 

You  do  us  more  than  justice,”  said  Mons.  d’A , 

**in  this  instance:  are  you  disposed  to  do  us  justice  in 
another  ? It  is  a favorite  propensity  of  your  countrymen 
to  accuse  us  of  heartlessness  and  want  of  feeling.  Think 
you  that  this  accusation  is  deserved  ? ” 

By  no  means,”  replied  Vincent.  The  same  cause 
that  brought  on  you  the  erroneous  censure  we  have  before 
mentioned,  appears  to  me  also  to  have  created  this  ; viz., 
a sort  of  Palais  Royal  vanity,  common  to  all  your  nation, 
which  induces  you  to  make  as  much  display  at  the  shop 
window  as  possible.  You  show  great  cordiality,  and  even 
enthusiasm,  to  strangers  : you  turn  your  back  on  them  — 
you  forget  them.  * How  heartless  I ^ cry  we.  Not  at  all  1 
The  English  show  no  cordiality,  no  enthusiasm  to  strangers, 
it  is  true  : but  they  equally  turn  their  backs  on  them,  and 
equally  forget  them  1 The  only  respect,  therefore,  in  which 
they  differ  from  you,  is  the  previous  kindness  : now  if  we 
are  to  receive  strangers,  I can  really  see  no  reason  why 


92 


PELHAM;  OK, 


we  are  not  to  oe  as  civil  to  them  as  possible  ; and  so  far 
from  imputing  the  desire  to  please  them  to  a bad  heart,  I 
think  it  a thousand  times  more  amiable  and  benevolent 
than  telling  them  ci  VAnglaisCy  by  your  morosity  and 
reserve,  that  you  do  not  care  a pin  what  becomes  of  them. 
If  I am  only  to  walk  a mile  with  a man,  why  should  I not 
make  that  mile  as  pleasant  to  him  as  I can  ? or  why,  above 
all,  if  I choose  to  be  sulky,  and  tell  him  to  go  and  be  d — d, 
am  I to  swell  out  my  chest,  color  with  conscious  virtue, 
and  cry.  See  what  a good  heart  I have  ? * Ah,  IMonsieur 
d’A , since  benevolence  is  inseparable  from  all  moral- 

ity, it  must  be  clear  that  there  is  a benevolence  in  little 
things  as  well  as  in  great,  and  that  he  who  strives  to  make 
his  fellow-creatures  happy,  though  only  for  an  instant,  is  a 
much  better  man  than  he  who  is  indifferent  to,  or  (what 
is  worse)  despises  it.  Nor  do  I,  to  say  truth,  see  that 
kindness  to  an  acquaintance  is  at  all  destructive  to  sincerity 
to  a friend  ; on  the  contrary,  I have  yet  to  learn,  that  you 
are  (according  to  the  customs  of  your  country)  worse 
friends,  worse  husbands,  or  worse  fathers,  than  we  are  ! 

“ What ! ” cried  I,  “ you  forget  yourself,  Vincent.  How 
can  the  private  virtues  be  cultivated  without  a coal  fire  ? 
Is  not  domestic  afifection  a synonymous  term  with  domestic 
heayfhf  and  where  do  you  find  either,  except  in  honest 
old  England  ? ’’ 

* Mr.  Pelham,  it  will  be  remembered,  has  prevised  the  reader, 
that  Lord  Vincent  was  somewhat  addicted  to  paradox.  His  opiriiona 
on  the  French  character  are  to  be  taken  with  a certain  reserve.  — 
Author, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


True,”  replied  Yincent ; and  it  is  certainly  impossible 
for  a father  and  his  family  to  be  as  fond  of  each  other  on 
a bright  day  in  the  Tuileries,  or  at  Versailles^  with  music 
and  dancing,  and  fresh  air,  as  they  would  be  in  a back 
parlor,  by  a smoky  hearth,  occupied  entirely  by  le  bon 
pere,  et  la  bonne  mere ; while  the  poor  little  children  sit 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  whispering  and  shivering, 
debarred  the  vent  of  all  natural  spirits,  for  fear  of  making 
a noise  : and  strangely  uniting  the  idea  of  the  domestic 
hearth  with  that  of  a hob  goblin,  and  the  association  of 
dear  papa  with  that  of  a birch  rod.” 

We  all  laughed  at  this  reply,  and  Monsieur  d’A , 

rising  to  depart,  said,  “Well,  well,  milord^  your  country- 
men are  great  generalizers  in  philosophy  ; they  reduce 
human  actions  to  two  grand  touchstones.  All  hilarity, 
they  consider  the  sign  of  a shallow  mind  ; and  all  kindness, 
the  token  of  a false  heart.” 


94 


PELHAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XTI. 

Quis  sapiens  bono 

Confidat  fragili  ? * — Seneca. 

Grammatici  certant,  et  adhuc  subjudice  lis  est.f — Hor. 

When  I first  went  to  Paris,  I took  a French  master  to 

• 

perfect  me  in  the  Parisian  pronunciation.  This  “ Haber- 
dasher of  pronouns  ” was  a person  of  the  name  of  Margot. 
He  was  a tall,  solemn  man,  with  a face  of  the  most  imper- 
turbable gravity.  He  would  have  been  inestimable  as  an 
undertaker.  His  hair  was  of  a pale  yellow ; you  would 
have  thought  it  had  caught  a bilious  complaint  from  his 
complexion  ; the  latter  was,  indeed,  of  so  sombre  a saffron, 
that  it  looked  as  if  ten  livers  had  been  forced  into  a jaundice, 
in  order  to  supply  its  color.  His  forehead  was  high,  bald, 
and  very  narrow.  His  cheek-bones  were  extremely  promi- 
nent, and  his  cheeks  so  thin,  that  they  seemed  happier  than 
Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  and  kissed  each  other  inside  without 
any  separation  or  division.  His  face  was  as  sharp  and 
almost  as  long  as  an  inverted  pyramid,  and  was  garnished 
on  either  side  by  a miserable  half-starved  whisker,  which 
seemed  scarcely  able  to  maintain  itself  amidst  the  general 


* What  wise  man  confides  in  the  fragile?  — Seneca. 
t Grammarians  dispute,  and  the  matter  is  still  under  consideratioo 
the  judge.  — Horace 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


95 


symptoms  of  atrophy  and  decay.  This  charming  coun- 
tenance was  supported  by  a figure  so  long,  so  straight,  so 
shadowy,  that  you  might  have  taken  it  for  the  monument 
in  a consumption  ! 

But  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  man  was  the  utter 
and  wonderful  gravity  I have  before  spoken  of.  You  could 
no  more  have  coaxed  a smile  out  of  his  countenance  than 
you  could  out  of  the  poker ; and  yet  Monsieur  Margot 
was  by  no  means  a melancholy  man.  lie  loved  his  joke, 
and  his  wine,  and  his  dinner,  just  as  much  as  if  he  had 
been  of  a fatter  frame  ; and  it  was  a fine  specimen  of  the 
practical  antithesis,  to  hear  a good  story,  or  a jovial 
expression,  leap  friskily  out  of  that  long  curved  mouth  ; it 
was  at  once  a paradox  and  a bathos  — it  was  the  mouse 
coming  out  of  its  hole  in  Ely  Cathedral. 

I said  that  this  gravity  was  M.  Margot’s  most  especial 
characteristic.  I forgot; — he  had  two  others  equally 
remarkable ; the  one  was  an  ardent  admiration  for  the 
chivalrous,  the  other  an  ardent  admiration  for  himself. 
Both  of  these  are  traits  commmon  enough  in  a Frenchman, 
but  in  Monsieur  Margot  their  excesses  rendered  them 
uncommon.  He  was  a most  ultra  specimen  of  le  chevalier 
amoureux  — a'mixture  of  Don  Quixote  and  the  Due  de 
Lauzun.  Whenever  he  spoke  of  the  present  tense,  even 
enprofesseur^  he  always  gave  a sigh  to  the  preterite,  and 
an  anecdote  of  Bayard  ; whenever  he  conjugated  a verb, 
he  paused  to  tell  me  that  the  favorite  one  of  his  female 
pupils  was  je  V aime. 

In  short,  he  bad  tales  of  his  own  good  fortune,  and  of 


96 


PELHAM;  OR, 


other  people’s  brave  exploits,  which,  without  much  exag 
geration,  were  almost  as  long,  and  had  perhaps  as  little 
substance,  as  himself ; but  the  former  was  his  favorite 
topic  : to  hear  him,  one  would  have  imagined  that  his  face, 
in  borrowing  the  sharpness  of  the  needle,  had  borrowed 
also  its  attraction  ; — and  then  the  prettiiiess  of  Monsieur 
Margot’s  modesty  ! 

“It  is  very  extraordinary,”  said  he,  “very  extraordi- 
nary, for  I have  no  time  to  give  myself  up  to  those  affairs  : 
it  is  not.  Monsieur,  as  if  I had  your  leisure  to  employ  all 
the  little  preliminary  arts  of  creating  la  belle  passion. 
Non,  Monsieur^  I go  to  church,  to  the  play,  to  the  Tuileries, 
for  a brief  relaxation  — and  me  mild  pnrtout  accable  with 
my  good  fortune.  I am  not  handsome.  Monsieur,  at  least, 
not  very ; it  is  true,  that  I have  expression,  a certain  air 
7ioble,  (my  first-cousin,  Monsieur,  is  the  Chevalier  de 
Margot,)  and  above  all,  soul  in  my  physiognomy ; the 
women  love  soul.  Monsieur  — something  intellectual  and 
spiritual  always  attracts  them  ; yet  my  success  certainly 
is  singular.” 

*^Bah!  replied  I : “with  dignity,  expres- 

sion, and  soul,  how  could  the  heart  of  any  Frenchwoman 
resist  you?  No,  you  do  yourself  injustice.  It  was  said 
of  Caesar,  that  he  was  great  without  an  effort ; much 
more,  then,  may  Monsieur  Margot  be  happy  without  an 
exertion.” 

“4h,  Monsieur  1 ” rejoined  the  Frenchman,  still  looking 

“As  weak,  as  earnest,  and  as  gravely  out 
As  sober  Lanesbro’  dancing  with  the  gout.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


91 


^*Ah,  Monsieur,  there  is  a depth  and  truth  in  your 
remarks,  worthy  of  Montaigne.  As  it  is  impossible  to 
account  for  the  caprices  of  women,  so  it  is  impossible  for 
ourselves  to  analyze  the  merit  they  discover  in  us  ; but, 
Monsieur,  hear  me  — at  the  house  where  I lodge  there  is 
an  English  lady  en  pension.  Eh  Men,  Monsieur,  you 
gut^sy  the  rest ; she  has  taken  a caprice  for  me,  and  this 
very  night  she  will  admit  me  to  her  apartment.  She  is 
very  hisndsome,  — Ah  qu^elle  est  belle!  une  jolie  petite 
bouche,  '^me  denture  ^blonissant^,  un  nez  tout  d fait  grec, 
in  fine,  c^uite  a bouton  de  rose.'^^ 

I expressed  my  envy  at  Monsieur  Margot’s  good  fortune, 
and  when  he  had  sufficiently  dilated  upon  it,  he  withdrew. 
Shortly  afterwards  Vincent  entered  — '‘I  have  a dinner 
invitatioij  for  both  of  us  to-day,’’  said  he  ; “you  will  come  ?” 

“Most  ceitainly,”  replied  I;  “but  who  is  the  person 
we  are  to  h(»nor?  ’’ 

“A  Madame  Laurent,” replied  Vincent ; “one  of  those 
ladies  only  found  at  Paris,  who  live  upon  anything  rather 
than  their  income.  She  keeps  a tolerable  table,  haunted 
with  Poles,  Russians,  Austrians,  and  idle  Frenchmen, 
peregrines  gent  is  amoenum  hospitium.  As  yet  she  has 
not  the  happiness  to  be  acquainted  with  any  Englishmen, 
(though  she  boards  one  of  our  countrywomen)  and  (as  she 
is  desirous  of  making  her  fortune  as  soon  as  possible) 
she  is  very  anxious  of  having  that  honor.  She  has  heard 
vast  reports  of  our  wealth  and  wisdom,  and  flatters  herself 
that  we  are  so  many  ambulatory  Indies : in  good  truth,  a 
I “9  a 


98  PELHAM;  OR, 

Frenchwoman  thinks  she  never  in  want  of  a fortune  as 
long  as  there  is  a rich  fool  in  the  world. 

‘ Stultitiam  patiuntur  opes,* 
is  her  hope : and 

‘Uttu  fortunam,  sic  nos  te,  Celse,  feremus,* 
rs  her  motto.” 

Mada?ne  Laurent!”  repeated  I,  ‘^why,  surely  that  is 
the  name  of  Mons.  Margot’s  landlady.” 

“I  hope  not,”  cried  Vincent,  for  the  sake  of  our  din- 
ner ; he  reflects  no  credit  on  her  good  cheer  — 

‘Who  eats  fat  dinners,  should  himself  be  fat.’” 

"At  all  events,”  said  I,  " we  can  try  the  good  lady  for 
once.  I am  very  anxious  to  see  a countrywoman  of  ours, 
probably  the  very  one  you  speak  of,  whom  Mons.  Margot 
eulogizes  in  glowing  colors,  and  who  has,  moreover,  taken 
a violent  fancy  for  my  solemn  preceptor.  What  think 
you  of  that,  Vincent  ? ” 

" Nothing  extraordinary,”  replied  Vincent;  *Uhe  lady 
only  exclaims  with  the  moralist  — 

‘Love,  virtue,  valor,  yea,  all  human  charms. 

Are  shrunk  and  centered  in  that  heap  of  bones. 

Oh!  there  are  wondrous  beauties  in  the  grave 

I made  some  punning  rejoinder,  and  we  sallied  out  to 
earn  an  appetite  in  the  Tuileries  for  Madame  Laurent’s 
dinner. 

At  the  hour  of  half-past  five  we  repaired  to  our  engage- 
ment. Madame  Laurent  received  us  with  the  most  evident 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


99 


satisfaction,  and  introduced  us  forthwith  to  our  coun 
tryworaan.  She  was  a pretty,  fair,  shrewd-looking  person, 
with  an  eye  and  lip,  which,  unless  it  greatly  belied  her, 
showed  her  much  more  inclined  to  be  merry  and  wise,  than 
honest  and  true. 

Presently  Monsieur  Margot  made  his  appearance. 
Though  very  much  surprised  at  seeing  me,  he  did  not 
appear  the  least  jealous  of  my  attentions  to  his  inamorata. 
[ndeed,  the  good  gentleman  was  far  too  much  pleased 
with  himself  to  be  susceptible  to  the  suspicions  common 
to  less  fortunate  lovers.  At  dinner  I sat  next  to  the 
pretty  Englishwoman,  whose  name  was  Green. 

Monsieur  Margot,’’  said  I,  ‘‘has  often  spoken  to  me 
of  you,  before  I had  the  happiness  of  being  personally 
convinced  how  true  and  unexaggerated  were  his  senti- 
ments.” 

“ Oh  1 ” cried  Mrs.  Green,  with  an  arch  laugh,  “ you 
are  acquainted  with  Monsieur  Margot,  then  ? ” 

“ I have  that  honor,”  said  I.  “ I receive  from  him 
every  morning  lessons  both  in  love  and  languages.  He 
is  perfect  master  of  both.” 

Mrs.  Green  burst  out  laughing. 

“A/i,  le  pauvre  professeur  cried  she.  “He  is  too 
absurd  1 ” 

“ He  tells  me,”  said  I gravely,  “ that  he  is  quite  accabl^ 
with  his  bonnes  fortunes  — possibly  he  flatters  himself  that 
even  you  are  not  perfectly  inaccessible  to  his  addresses.” 

“ Tell  me,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  the  fair  Mrs.  Green,  “ can 
you  pass  by  this  Street  about  half-past  twelve  to-night 


100 


PELHAM;  OR, 


1 will  make  a point  of  doing  so/’  replied  I,  not  a little 
surprised  by  the  question. 

Do,”  said  she,  and  now  let  us  talk  of  old  England.” 

When  we  went  away,  I told  Vincent  of  my  appointment. 

What  I ” said  he,  eclipse  Monsieur  Margot  I Im- 
possible ! ” 

“ You  are  right,”  replied  I,  nor  is  it  my  hope  ; there  is 
some  trick  afloat,  to  which  we  may  as  well  be  spectators.” 

With  all  my  heart ! ” answered  Vincent ; let  us  go 

till  then  to  the  Duchesse  de  G .”  1 assented,  and  we 

drove  to  the  Rue  de  . 

The  Duchesse  de  G was  a fine  relic  of  the  ancien 

regime  — tall  and  stately,  with  her  own  grey  hair  crepe^ 
and  surmounted  by  a high  cap  of  the  most  dazzling  blonde. 
She  had  been  one  of  the  earliest  emigrants,  and  had  stayed 
for  many  months  with  my  mother,  whom  she  professed  to 
rank  amongst  her  dearest  friends.  The  Duchesse  possessed 
to  perfection  that  singular  melange  of  ostentation  and 
ignorance  which  was  so  peculiar  to  the  ante-revolutionists. 
She  would  talk  of  the  last  tragedy  with  the  emphatic  tone 
of  a connoisseur,  in  the  same  breath  that  she  would  ask, 
with  Marie  Antoinette,  why  the  poor  people  were  so 
clamorous  for  breads  when  they  might  buy  such  nice  cakes 
for  twopence  a-piece  ? To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  Irish,” 
said  she  one  day  to  an  inquisitive  marquess,  “know  that 
they  prefer  potatoes  to  mutton!” 

Her  soirees  were  among  the  most  agreeable  at  Paris 
— she  united  all  the  rank  and  talent  to  be  found  in  the 
ultra  party,  for  she  professed  to  be  quite  a female  Mecaeiias  ; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  10?. 

and  whether  it  was  a mathematician  or  a romance-writer, 
a naturalist  or  a poet,  she  held  open  house  for  all,  and 
conversed  with  each  with  equal  fluency  and  self-satisfaction. 

A new  play  had  just  been  acted,  and  the  conversation, 
after  a few  preliminary  hoverings,  settled  upon  it. 

“ You  see,’’  said  the  Duchesse,  “that  we  have  actors, 
you  authors ; of  what  avail  is  it  that  you  boast  of  a 
Shakspeare,  since  your  Liseton,  great  as  he  is,  cannot  bo 
compared  with  our  Talma?” 

“And  yet,”  said  I,  preserving  my  gravity  with  a perti- 
nacity, which  nearly  made  Vincent  and  the  rest  of  our 
compatriots  assembled  lose  theirs,  “Madame  must  allow 
that  there  is  a striking  resemblance  in  their  persons,  and 
the  sublimity  of  their  acting?” 

“Pour  ga,fen  conviens,^^  replied  this  critique  de  VEcole 
des  Femmes.  “ Mais  cependant  Liseton  n^apas  la  nature^ 
Vdmej  la  grandeur  de  Talma 

“And  will  you  then  allow  us  no  actors  of  merit  ? ” 
asked  Vincent. 

Mais  ouil  — dans  le  genre  comique,  par  exemple 
votre  hv.ffo  Kean  met  dix  fois  plus  d' esprit  et  de  drollerie 
dans  ses  roles  que  La  Porte P ^ 

“The  impartial  and  profound  judgment  of  Madame 
admitfc  of  no  further  discussion  on  this  point,”  said  I. 

* I grant  that,  but  Liston,  however,  has  not  the  nature,  the  soul, 
the  grandeur,  of  Talma. 

■f  Ves,  in  comedy,  for  instance,  your  Kean  has  ten  times  naori 
vivacity  ajid  drollery  than  La  Porte. 

9^ 


102  PELHAM;  OR, 

“ What  does  she  think  of  the  present  state  of  our  dramatic 
literature  f ” 

“ Why,’^  replied  Madame,  you  have  many  great  poets ; 
but  when  they  write  for  the  stage,  they  lose  themselves 
entirely:  your  Yalter  Scoters  play  of  Robe  Roi  is  very 
inferior  to  his  novel  of  the  same  name.” 

‘^It  is  a great  pity,”  said  I,  that  Byron  did  not  turn 
his  Childe  Harold  into  a tragedy  — it  has  so  much  energy^ 
action  — variety  ! ” 

“Very  true,”  said  Madame,  with  a sigh;  **but  the 
tragedy  is,  after  all,  only  suited  to  our  nation  — we  alone 
carry  it  to  perfection.” 

Yet,”  Said  I,  ''Goldoni  wrote  a few  fine  tragediesd^ 

" Eh  Men  ^ ” said  Madame,  “ one  rose  does  not  constitute 
A garden  I ” 

And  satisfir:d  with  this  remark,  la  femme  savante  turned 
to  a celebrated  Traveller  to  discuss  with  him  the  chance  of 
discovering  th^  North  Pole. 

There  weio  one  or  two  clever  Englishmen  present; 
Vincent  and  I ioined  them. 

‘‘Have  you  met  the  Persian  prince  yet?”  said  Sir 
George  Lynton  to  me  ; “ he  is  a man  of  much  talent,  and 
great  desire  of  knowledge.  He  intends  to  publish  his 
observations  on  Paris,  and  I suppose  we  shall  have  an 
admirable  supplement  to  Montesquieu’s  Lettres  Fer^ 
mnnea!  ” 

“I  wish  we  had,”  said  Vincent;  “there  are  few  better 
satires  on  a civilized  country  than  the  observations  of 
visitors  less  polished  ; while  on  the  contrary  the  civilized 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  103 

traveller,  in  describing  the  manners  of  the  American 
barbarian,  instead  of  conveying  ridicule  upon  the  visited, 
points  the  sarcasm  on  the  visitor ; and  Tacitus  could  not 
have  thought  of  a finer  or  nobler  satire  on  the  Roman 
luxuries  than  that  insinuated  by  his  treatise  on  the  German 
simplicity. 

‘‘What,^^  said  Monsieur  d’E (an  intelligent  ci- 

devant  emigre)^  “ what  political  writer  is  generally  es- 
teemed  as  your  best  ? 

It  is  difficult  to  say,’^  replied  Vincent,  since  with  so 
many  parties  we  have  many  idols ; but  I think  I might 
venture  to  name  Bolingbroke  as  among  the  most  popular. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  select  a name 
more  frequently  quoted  and  discussed  than  his  ; and  yet 
his  political  works  are  not  very  valuable  from  political 
knowledge:  — they  contain  many  lofty  sentiments,  and 
many  beautiful  yet  scattered  truths  ; but  they  were  written 
when  legislation,  most  debated,  was  least  understood,  and 
ought  to  be  admired  rather  as  excellent  for  the  day  than 
admirable  in  themselves.  The  life  of  Bolingbroke  would 
convey  ajuster  moral  than  all  his  writings  : and  the  author 
who  gives  us  a full  and  impartial  memoir  of  that  extraor- 
dinary  man,  will  have  afforded  both  to  the  philosophical 
and  political  literature  of  England  one  of  its  greatest 
desiderata.” 

“ It  seems  to  me,”  said  Monsieur  d’E , that  your 

national  literature  is  peculiarly  deficient  in  biography  — 
am  I right  in  my  opinion  ? ” 

Indubitably  1 ” said  Vincent  j we  have  not  a single 


104 


PELHAM;  OR 


work  that  can  be  considered  a model  in  biography  (ex* 
cepting,  perhaps,  Middleton’s  Life  of  Cicero).  This 
brings  on  a remark  I have  often  made  in  distinguishing 
your  philosophy  from  ours.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  who 
excel  so  admirably  in  biography,  memoirs,  comedy,  satirical 
observation  on  peculiar  classes,  and  pointed  aphorisms, 
are  fonder  of  considering  man  in  his  relation  to  society 
and  the  active  commerce  of  the  world,  than  in  the  more 
abstracted  and  metaphysical  operations  of  the  mind.  Our 
writers,  on  the  contrary,  love  to  indulge  rather  in  abstruse 
speculations  on  their  species  — to  regard  man  in  an 
abstract  and  isolated  point  of  view,  and  to  see  him  think 
alone  in  his  chamber,  while  you  prefer  beholding  him  act 
with  the  multitude*  in  the  world.” 

^^It  must  be  allowed,”  said  Monsieur  d’E , ^Hhat  if 

this  be  true,  our  philosophy  is  the  most  useful,  though 
yours  may  be  the  most  profound.” 

Vincent  did  not  reply. 

“Yet,”  said  Sir  George  Lynton,  “there  will  be  a dis- 
advantage attending  your  writings  of  this  description, 
which,  by  diminishing  their  general  applicability,  diminish 
their  general  utility.  Works  which  treat  upon  man  in  hisf 
relation  to  society,  can  only  be  strictly  applicable  so  long 
as  that  relation  to  society  treated  upon  continues.  Foi? 
instance,  the  play  which  satirizes  a particular  class,  how- 
ever deep  its  reflections  and  accurate  its  knowledge  upon 
the  subject  satirized,  must  necessarily  be  obsolete  when 
the  class  itself  has  become  so.  The  political  pamphlet, 
admirable  for  one  state,  may  be  absurd  in  another ; thi 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


105 


novel  which  exactly  delineates  the  present  age  may  seem 
strange  and  unfamiliar  the  next ; and  thus  works  which 
treat  of  men  relatively,  and  not  man  in  se,  must  often  con- 
fine their  popularity  to  the  age  and  even  the  country  in 
which  they  were  written.  While  on  the  other  hand,  the 
work  which  treats  of  man  himself,  which  seizes,  discovers, 
analyzes  the  human  mind,  as  it  is,  whether  in  the  ancient 
or  the  modern,  the  savage  or  the  European,  must  evidently 
be  applicable,  and  consequently  useful,  to  all  times  and  all 
nations.  He  who  discovers  the  circulation  of  the  blood, 
or  the  origin  of  ideas,  must  be  a philosopher  to  every 
people  who  have  veins  or  ideas ; but  he  who  even  most 
successfully  delineates  the  manners  of  one  country,  or  the 
actions  of  one  individual,  is  only  the  philosopher  of  a 

single  country,  or  a single  age.  If,  Monsieur  d’E , 

you  will  condescend  to  consider  this,  you  will  see  perhaps 
that  the  philosophy  which  treats  of  man  in  his  relations 
is  not  so  useful,  because  neither  so  permanent  nor  so  in- 
variable, as  that  which  treats  of  man  in  himself.”* 

I was  now  somewhat  weary  of  this  conversation,  and 
though  it  was  not  yet  twelve,  I seized  upon  my  appoint- 
ment as  an  excuse  to  depart — accordingly  I rose  for  that 
purpose.  suppose,”  said  I to  Yincent,  ^*that  you  will 
not  leave  your  discussion.” 

Pardon  me,”  said  he,  amusement  is  quite  as  profit- 
able to  a man  of  sense  as  metaphysics.  Allons.'^^ 

*Yet  Hume  holds  the  contrary  opinion  to  this,  and  considers  a 
good  comedy  more  durable  than  a system  of  philosophy.  Hume  is 
if  by  a system  of  philosophy  is  understood — a pile  of  guesses, 


106 


PELHAM^  OB, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

1 was  ii  this  terrible  situation  when  the  basket  stopped. 

Oriental  Tales  — History  of  the  Basket, 

We  took  our  way  to  the  street  in  which  Madame  Lan- 
rent  resided.  Meanwhile  suffer  me  to  get  rid  of  myself^ 
and  to  introduce  you,  dear  Reader,  to  my  friend,  Monsieur 
Margot,  the  whole  of  whose  adventures  were  subsequently 
detailed  to  me  by  the  garrulous  Mrs.  Green. 

At  the  hour  appointed  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  my 
fair  countrywoman,  and  was  carefully  admitted.  He  was 
attired  in  a dressing-gown  of  sea-green  silk,  in  which  his 
long,  lean,  hungry  body,  looked  more  like  a starved  pike 
than  any  thing  human. 

^‘Madame,”  said  he,  with  a solemn  air,  “I  return  you 
my  best  thanks  for  the  honor  you  have  done  me — behold 
me  at  your  feet ! ” — and  so  saying,  the  lean  lover  gravely 
knelt  down  on  one  knee. 

“ Rise,  sir,^’  said  Mrs.  Green,  I confess  that  you  have 

false  but  plausible,  set  up  by  one  age  to  be  destroyed  by  the  next. 
It  genuity  cannot  rescue  error  from  oblivion  ; but  the  moment  Wis- 
dom has  discovered  Truth,  she  has  obtained  immortality. — But  is 
Hume  right  when  he  suggests  that  there  may  come  a time  when 
Addison  will  be  read  with  delight,  but  Locke  be  utterly  forgotten? 
For  my  part,  if  the  two  were  to  be  matched  for  posterity,  I think 
the  odds  would  be  in  favor  of  Locke.  I very  much  doubt  whether 
five  hundred  years  hence,  Addison  will  be  read  at  all,  and  I am  quite 
sure  that,  a thousand  years  hence,  Locke  will  not  be  forgotten. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  107 

won  my  heart ; but  that  is  not  all  — you  have  yet  to  show 
that  you  are  worthy  of  the  opinion  I have  formed  of  you. 
Tt  IS  not,  Monsieur  Margot,  your  person  that  has  won 
me  — no  : it  is  your  chivalrous  and  noble  sentiments  — 
prove  that  these  are  genuine,  and  you  may  command  all 
from  my  admiration. 

'^In  what  manner  shall  I prove  it,  madame?^’  said 
Monsieur  Margot,  rising,  and  gracefully  drawing  his  sea- 
green  gown  more  closely  round  him. 

your  courage,  your  devotion,  and  your  gallantry  1 
I ask  but  one  proof — you  can  give  it  me  on  the  spot. 
You  remember,  monsieur,  that  in  the  days  of  romance,  a 
lady  threw  her  glove  upon  the  stage  on  which  a lion  was 
exhibited,  and  told  her  lover  to  pick  it  up.  Monsieur 
Margot,  the  trial  to  which  I shall  put  you  is  less  severe. 
Look,  (and  Mrs.  Green  threw  open  the  window) — look, 
I throw  my  glove  out  into  the  street  — descend  for  it.” 

‘^Your  commands  are  my  law,”  said  the  romantic 
Margot.  “ I will  go  forthwith,”  and  so  saying,  he  went 
to  the  door. 

Hold,  sir  !”  said  the  lady,  it  is  not  by  that  simple 
manner  that  you  are  to  descend  — you  must  go  the  same 
way  as  my  glove,  out  of  the  window.'^^ 

Out  of  the  window,  madame  ! ” said  Monsieur  Margot, 
with  astonished  solemnity;  that  is  impossible,  because 
this  apartment  is  three  stories  high,  and  consequently  1 
shall  be  dashed  to  pieces.” 

‘‘By  no  means,”  answered  the  dame  ; “in  that  corner 
of  the  room  tnere  is  a basket,  to  which  (already  foreseeing 


i08 


PELHAM;  OR, 


your  determination)  I have  affixed  a rope  ; by  that  basket 
you  shall  descend.  See,  monsieur,  what  expedients  a 
provident  love  can  sugg-est.’’ 

“ H — e — m ! ” said,  very  slowly.  Monsieur  Margot,  by 
no  means  liking  the  airy  voyage  imposed  upon  him  ; “but 
the  rope  may  break,  or  your  hand  may  suffer  it  to  slip.” 

“ Feel  the  rope,”  cried  the  lady,  “ to  satisfy  you  as  to 
your  first  doubt;  and,  as  to  the  second,  can  you  — can 
you  imagine  that  my  affections  would  not  make  me  twice 
as  careful  of  your  person  as  of  my  own  ? Fie  ! ungrateful 
Monsieur  Margot ! fie  ! ” 

The  melancholy  chevalier  cast  a rueful  look  at  the 
basket.  “ Madame,”  said  he,  “ I own  that  I am  very 
averse  to  the  plan  you  propose  : suffer  me  to  go  down 
stairs  in  the  ordinary  way  ; your  glove  can  be  easily  picked 
up  whether  your  adorer  goes  out  of  the  door  or  the  win- 
dow. It  is  only,  madame,  when  ordinary  means  fail,  that 
we  should  have  recourse  to  the  extraordinary.” 

“ Begone,  sir  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Green  — “begone  ! I 
now  perceive  that  your  chivalry  was  only  a pretence. 
Fool  that  I was,  to  love  you  as  I have  done  ! — fool  that 

I was,  to  imagine  a hero  where  I now  find  a ” 

“ Pause,  madame,  I will  obey  you  — my  heart  is  firm — 

see  that  the  rope  is  ! ” 

“ Gallant  Monsieur  Margot ! ” cried  the  lady  : and 
going  to  her  dressing-room,  she  called  her  woman  to  her 
assistance.  The  rope  was  of  the  most  unquestionable 
thickness,  the  basket  of  the  most  capacious  dimensions. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


109 


The  former  was  fastened  to  a strong  hook — and  the  latter 
lowered. 

go,  madame,’’ said  Monsieur  Margot,  feeling  the 
rope  ; but  it  really  is  a most  dangerous  exploit.^’ 

“ Go,  monsieur  1 and  St.  Louis  befriend  you  1 
Stop  said  Monsieur  Margot,  ^Met  me  fetch  my 
coat : the  night  is  cold,  and  my  dressing-gown  thin.’^ 
‘^!N*ay,  nay,  my  chevalier,’^  returned  the  dame,  I love 
you  in  that  gown  ; it  gives  you  an  air  of  grace  and  dig- 
nity quite  enchanting.’^ 

“ It  will  give  me  my  death  of  cold,  madame,”  caid 
Monsieur  Margot,  earnestly. 

*‘Bah  !”  said  the  Englishwoman  : what  knight  ever 
feared  cold  ? Besides,  you  mistake  ; the  night  is  warm, 
and  you  look  so  handsome  in  your  gown.” 

Do  I ! ” said  the  vain  Monsieur  Margot,  with  an  iron 
expression  of  satisfaction.  If  that  is  the  case,  I will 
mind  it  less ; but  may  I return  by  the  door  ? ” 

Yes,”  replied  the  lady;  “you  see  that  I do  not  re- 
quire too  much  from  your  devotion  — enter.” 

“Behold  me!”  said  the  French  master,  inserting  his 
body  into  the  basket,  which  immediately  began  to  descend. 

The  hour  and  the  police  of  course  made  the  street 
empty ; the  lady’s  handkerchief  waved  in  token  of  en- 
couragement and  triumph.  When  the  basket  was  within 
five  yards  of  the  ground,  Mrs.  Green  cried  to  her  lover, 
who  had  hitherto  been  elevating  his  serious  countenance 
towards  her,  in  sober,  yet  gallant  sadness  — 

“Look,  look,  monsieur  — straight  before  you.” 

I.  —10 


110 


PELHAM;  OR, 


The  lover  turned  round,  as  rapidly  as  his  habits  would 
allow  him,  and  at  that  instant  the  window  was  shut,  the 
light  extinguished,  and  the  basket  arrested.  There  stood 
Monsieur  ]\Iargot  upright  in  the  basket,  and  there  stopped 
the  basket,  motionless  in  the  air  ! 

What  were  the  exact  reflections  of  Monsieur  Margot, 
in  that  position,  I cannot  pretend  to  determine,  because 
he  never  favored  me  with  them  ; but  about  an  hour  after- 
wards, Vincent  and  I (who  had  been  delayed  on  the  road), 
strolling  up  the  street,  according  to  our  appointment, 
perceived,  by  the  dim  lamps,  some  opaque  body  leaning 
against  the  wall  of  Madame  Laurent's  house,  at  about  the 
distance  of  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground. 

We  hastened  our  steps  towards  it ; a measured  and 
serious  voice,  which  I well  knew,  accosted  us  — 

^^For  God’s  sake,  gentlemen,  procure  me  assistance. 
I am  the  victim  of  a perfidious  woman,  and  expect  every 
moment  to  be  precipitated  to  the  earth.” 

Good  heavens  ! ” said  I,  '‘surely  it  is  Monsieur  Mar- 
got whom  I hear.  What  are  you  doing  there  ?” 

" Shivering  with  cold,”  answered  Monsieur  Margot  in 
a tone  tremulously  slow. 

"But  what  are  you  m?  for  1 can  see  nothing  but  a 
dark  substance.” 

" I am  in  a basket,”  replied  Monsieur  Margot,  " and  I 
should  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  to  let  me  out  of  it.” 

"Well  — indeed,”  said  Vincent  (for  7 was  too  much 
engaged  in  laughing  to  give  a ready  reply),  "your  Chd- 
teau-llargot  has  but  a cool  cellar.  But  there  are  some 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


Ill 


things  in  the  world  easier  said  tlian  done.  How  are  we 
to  remove  you  to  a more  desirable  place  ? ’’ 

^‘Ah,”  returned  Monsieur  Margot,  how  indeed  ! There 
is,  to  be  sure,  a ladder  in  the  porter’s  lodge  long  enough 
to  deliver  me  ; but  then,  think  of  the  gibes  and  jeers  of 
the  porter!  — it  will  get  wind  — I shall  be  ridiculed, 
gentlemen  — I shall  be  ridiculed  — and  what  is  worse,  I 
shall  lose  my  pupils.” 

'‘My  good  friend,”  said  I,  "you  had  better  lose  your 
pupils  than  your  life  ; and  the  day-light  will  soon  come, 
and  then,  instead  of  being  ridiculed  by  the  porter,  you 
will  be  ridiculed  by  the  whole  street  I ” 

Monsieur  Margot  groaned.  " Go,  then,  my  friend,” 
said  he,  " procure  the  ladder  ! Oh,  those  she  devils  ! — 
W'hat  could  make  me  such  a fool  I ” 

Whilst  Monsieur  Margot  was  venting  his  spleen  in  a 
scarcely  articulate  mutter,  we  repaired  to  the  lodge, 
knocked  up  the  porter,  communicated  the  accident,  and 
procured  the  ladder.  However,  an  observant  eye  had 
been  kept  upon  our  proceedings,  and  the  window  above 
was  re-opened,  though  so  silently  that  I only  perceived 
the  action.  The  porter,  a jolly,  bluff,  hearty-looking  fel 
low,  stood  grinning  below  with  a lantern,  while  we  set  the 
ladder  (which  only  just  reached  the  basket)  against  the 
wall. 

The  chevalier  looked  wistfully  forth,  and  then,  by  the 
light  of  the  lantern,  we  had  a fair  view  of  his  ridiculous 
figure.  His  teeth  chattered  wofully,  and  the  united  cold 
without  and  anxiety  within,  threw  a double  sadness  and 


112 


PELHAM;  OR 


solemnity  upon  his  withered  countenance.  The  night  was 
very  windy,  and  every  instant  a rapid  current  seized  the 
unhappy  sea-green  vesture,  whirled  it  in  the  air,  and  threw 
it,  as  if  in  scorn,  over  the  very  face  of  the  miserable  pro- 
fessor. The  constant  recurrence  of  this  sportive  irrever- 
ence of  the  gales  — the  high  sides  of  the  basket,  and  the 
trembling  agitation  of  the  inmate,  never  too  agile,  ren- 
dered it  a work  of  some  time  for  Monsieur  Margot  to 
transfer  himself  from  the  basket  to  the  ladder.  At  length, 
he  had  fairly  got  out  one  thin,  shivering  leg. 

Thank  Heaven  1”  said  the  pious  professor  — when  at 
that  instant  the  thanksgiving  was  checked,  and,  to  Mon- 
sieur Margot’s  inexpressible  astonishment  and  dismay,  the 
basket  rose  five  feet  from  the  ladder,  leaving  its  tenant 
with  one  leg  dangling  out,  like  a flag  from  a balloon. 

The  ascent  was  too  rapid  to  allow  Monsieur  Margot 
even  time  for  an  exclamation,  and  it  was  not  till  he  had 
had  sufficient  leisure  in  his  present  elevation  to  perceive  all 
its  consequences,  that  he  found  words  to  say,  with  the 
most  earnest  tone  of  thoughtful  lamentation,  “ One  could 
not  have  foreseen  this  ! — it  is  really  extremely  distressing 
— would  to  Heaven  that  I could  get  my  leg  in,  or  my 
body  out ! ” 

While  we  were  yet  too  convulsed  with  laughter  to  make 
any  comment  upon  the  unlooked-for  ascent  of  the  luminous 
Monsieur  Margot,  the  basket  descended  with  such  force 
as  to  dash  the  lantern  out  of  the  hand  of  the  porter,  and 
to  bring  the  professor  so  precipitately  to  the  ground,  that 
all  the  bones  in  his  skin  rattled  audibly. 


AaJVENTURES  oe  a gentleman.  113 

**  3Ion  DieuP^  said  he,  “I  am  done  for!  Be  witness 
how  inhumanly  I have  been  murdered.’^ 

We  pulled  him  out  of  the  basket,  and  carried  him 
between  us  into  the  porter’s  lodge.  But  the  woes  of 
Monsieur  Margot  were  not  yet  at  their  termination.  The 
room  was  crowded.  There  was  Madame  Laurent, — there 
was  the  German  count,  whom  the  professor  was  teaching 
French  — there  was  the  French  viscount,  whom  he  was 
teaching  German  — there  were  all  his  fellow-lodgers,  tlie 
ladies  whom  he  had  boasted  ofy  the  men  he  had  boasted 
to.  Don  Juan,  in  the  infernal  regions,  could  not  have 
met  with  a more  unwelcome  set  of  old  acquaintances  than 
Monsieur  Margot  had  the  happiness  of  opening  his  be- 
wildered eyes  upon  in  the  porter’s  lodge. 

“What!”  cried  they  all,  “Monsieur  Margot,  is  that 
you  who  have  been  frightening  us  so  ? We  thought  the 
house  was  attacked.  The  Russian  general  is  at  this  very 
moment  loading  his  pistols  ; lucky  for  you  that  you  did 
not  choose  to  stay  longer  in  that  situation.  Pray,  mon- 
sieur, what  could  induce  you  to  exhibit  yourself  so,  in 
your  dressing-gown  too,  and  the  night  so  cold  ? Ar’n’t 
you  ashamed  of  yourself?” 

All  this,  and  infinitely  more,  was  levelled  against  the 
miserable  professor,  who  stood  shivering  with  cold  and 
fright;  and  turning  his  eyes  first  on  one,  and  then  on 
another,  as  the  exclamations  circulated  round  the  room. 

“I  do  assure  you — — ” at  length  he  began. 

“No,  no,”  cried  one,  “it  is  of  no  use  explaining  nowl” 
10* 


H 


114 


PELHAM;  OR, 


MaiSy  Messieurs querulously  recommenced  the 

unhappy  Margot 

‘‘  Hold  your  tongue,’’  exclaimed  Madame  Laurent,  **  you 
have  been  disgracing  my  house.” 

MaiSj  Madame y ^coutez-moi ” 

No,  no,”  cried  the  German,  we  saw  you  — we  saw 
you.” 

Mats,  Monsieur  le  Comte ” 

Fie,  fie  ! ” cried  the  Frenchman. 

MaiSj  Monsieur  le  Vicomte ” 

At  this  every  mouth  was  opened,  and  the  patience  of 
Monsieur  Margot  being  by  this  time  exhausted,  he  flew  into 
a violent  rage  ; his  tormentors  pretended  an  equal  indig- 
nation, and  at  length  he  fought  his  way  out  of  the  room, 
as  fast  as  his  shattered  bones  would  allow  him,  followed 
by  the  whole  body,  screaming,  and  shouting,  and  scolding, 
and  laughing  after  him. 

The  next  morning  passed  without  my  usual  lesson  from 
Monsieur  Margot ; that  was  natural  enough;  but  when 
the  next  day,  and  the  next,  rolled  on,  and  brought  neither 
Monsieur  Margot  nor  his  excuse,  I began  to  be  uneasy 
for  the  poor  man.  Accordingly  I sent  to  Madame  Lau- 
rent’s house  to  inquire  after  him  : judge  of  my  surprise 
at  hearing  that  he  had,  early  the  day  after  his  adventure, 
left  his  lodgings  with  his  small  possession  of  books  and 
clothes,  leaving  only  a note  to  Madame  Laurent,  enclos- 
ing the  amount  of  his  debt  to  her,  and  that  none  had 
since  seen  or  heard  of  him. 

From  that  dby  to  this  I have  never  once  beheld  him. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  115 

The  poor  professor  lost  even  the  little  money  due  to  him 
for  his  lessons  — so  true  is  it,  that  in  a man  of  Monsieur 
Magot’s  temper,  even  interest  is  a subordinate  passion  tf 
vanity  I 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  is  good  to  be  merry  and  wise, 

It’s  good  to  be  honest  and  true; 

It  is  good  to  be  off  with  the  old  love, 

Before  you  be  on  with  the  new. — Song. 

One  morning,  when  I was  riding  .to  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  (the  celebrated  place  of  assignation),  in  order 
to  meet  Madame  d’Anville,  I saw  a lady  on  horseback,  in 
the  most  imminent  danger  of  being  thrown.  Her  horse 
had  taken  fright  at  an  English  tandem,  or  its  driver,  and 
was  plunging  violently ; the  lady  was  evidently  much 
frightened,  and  lost  her  presence  of  mind  more  and  more 
every  moment.  A man  who  was  with  her,  and  who  could 
scarcely  manage  his  own  horse,  appeared  to  be  exceed- 
ingly desirous,  but  perfectly  unable,  to  assist  her ; and  a 
great  number  of  people  were  looking  on,  doing  nothing; 
and  saying,  Mon  Dieu,  how  dangerous  ! ’’ 

I have  always  had  a great  horror  of  being  a hero  in 
scenes,  and  a still  greater  antipathy  to  females  in  dis* 
tress.^^  However,  so  great  is  the  effect  of  sympathy  upon 
the  most  hardened  of  us,  that  I stopped  for  a few  moments, 
first  to  look  on,  and  secondly  to  assist.  Just  when  a 


PELHAM;  OR, 


110 

moraent’s  delay  might  have  been  dangerous,  I threw 
myself  off  my  horse,  seized  her’s  with  one  hand,  by  the 
rein  which  she  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  hold,  and 
assisted  her  with  the  other  to  dismount.  When  all  th3 
peril  was  over,  Monsieur,  her  companion,  managed  also 
to  find  his  legs  ; and  I did  not,  I confess,  wonder  at  his 
previous  delay,  when  I discovered  that  the  lady  in  danger 
had  been  his  wife.  He  gave  me  a profusion  of  thanks, 
and  she  made  them  more  than  complimentary  by  the  glance 
w^hich  accompanied  them.  Their  carriage  was  in  attend- 
ance at  a short  distance  behind.  The  husband  went  for 
it  — I remained  with  the  lady. 

“ Mr.  Pelham,”  she  said,  “ I have  heard  much  of  you 
from  my  friend  Madame  d’Anville,  and  have  long  been 
anxious  for  your  acquaintance.  I did  not  think  I should 
commence  it  with  so  great  an  obligation.” 

Flattered  by  being  already  known  byname,  and  a sub- 
ject of  previous  interest,  you  may  be  sure  that  I tried 
every  method  to  improve  the  opportunity  I had  gained  ; 
and  when  I handed  my  new  acquaintance  into  her  carriage, 
my  pressure  of  her  hand  was  somewhat  more  than  slightly 
returned. 

Shall  you  be  at  the  English  ambassador’s  to-night  ? ” 
said  the  lady,  as  they  were  about  to  shut  the  door  of  the 
carriage. 

Certainly,  if  you  are  to  be  there,”  was  my  answer. 

We  shall  meet  then,”  said  Madame,  and  her  look  said 
more. 

I rode  into  the  Bois  ; and  giving  my  horse  to  my  ser- 


/ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  Ill 

rant,  as  I came  near  Pansy,  where  I was  to  meet  Ma- 
dame d’Anville,  I proceeded  thither  on  foot.  I was  just 
in  si^ht  of  the  spot,  and  indeed  of  my  inamorata,  when 
two  men  passed,  talking  very  earnestly  ; they  did  not 
remark  me,  but  what  individual  could  ever  escape  my 
notice  ? The  one  was  Thornton  ; the  other  — who  could 
he  be  ? Where  had  I seen  that  pale  and  remarkable 
countenance  before  ? I looked  again.  I was  satisfied 
that  I was  mistaken  in  my  first  thought ; the  hair  was  of 
a completely  different  color.  “ No,  no,”  said  I,  “it  is  not 
he  : yet  how  like  ! ” 

I was  distrait  and  absent  during  the  whole  time  I was 
with  Madame  d^Anville.  The  face  of  Thornton’s  com- 
panion haunted  me  like  a dream  ; and,  to  say  the  truth, 
there  were  also  moments  when  the  recollection  of  my  new 
engagement  for  the  evening  made  me  tired  with  that  which 
I was  enjoying  the  troublesome  honor  of  keeping. 

Madame  d’Anville  was  not  slow  in  perceiving  the  cold- 
ness of  my  behavior.  Though  a Frenchwoman,  she  was 
rather  grieved  than  resentful. 

“ You  are  growing  tired  of  me,  my  friend,”  she  said  ; 
“ and  when  I consider  your  youth  and  temptations,  I 
cannot  be  surprised  at  it  — yet,  I own,  that  this  thought 
gives  me  much  greater  pain  than  I could  have  supposed.” 

“ Bah  ! ma  belle  amie,^^  cried  I,  “you  deceive  yourself 
— I adore  you  — I shall  always  adore  you  ; but  it’s  get- 
ting very  late  ! ” 

Madame  d’Anville  sighed,  and  we  parted.  “ She  is 
not  half  so  pretty  or  agreeable  as  she  was,”  thought  I,  as 


yt8  PELHAM;  OR, 

I mounted  my  horse,  and  remembered  my  appointment  at 
the  ambassador’s. 

I took  unusual  pains  with  my  appearance  that  evening, 
and  drove  to  the  ambassador’s  hotel  in  the  R-ue  Faubourg 
St.  Honore,  full  half  an  hour  earlier  than  I had  ever  done 
before.  I had  been  some  time  in  the  rooms  without  dis- 
covering my  heroine  of  the  morning.  The  Duchess  of 

II  n passed  by. 

^^What  a wonderfully  beautiful  woman  I ” said  Mr. 
Howard  de  Howard,  a lean  gentleman,  who  valued  him- 
self on  his  ancestors,  to  Mr.  Aberton. 

‘‘Ay,”  answered  Aberton,  “but  to  my  taste,  the  Duch- 
esse  de  Perpignan  is  quite  equal  to  her  — do  you  know 
herV^ 

“No  — yes  ! ” said  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard  ; “ that  is, 
not  exactly  — not  well.”  An  Englishman  never  owns 
that  he  does  not  know  a duchess. 

“ Hem  I ” said  Mr.  Aberton,  thrusting  his  large  hand 
through  his  lank  light  hair.  “ Hera  — could  one  do  any 
thing,  do  you  think,  in  that  quarter  ? ” 

“ I should  think  one  might,  with  a tolerable  person  1’^ 
answered  the  spectral  aristocrat,  looking  down  at  a pair 
of  most  shadowy  supporters. 

“Pray,”  said  Aberton,  “what  do  you  think  of  Miss 
? they  say  she  is  an  heiress.” 

“Think  of  her!”  said  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard,  who 
vas  as  poor  as  he  was  thin,  “ why,  I have  thought  of  her  I ” 

“ They  say  that  fool  Pelham  makes  up  to  her.  ” (Little 


ADVENTUBES  OE  A GENTLEMAN.  119 

did  Mr.  Aberton  imagine,  when  he  made  this  remark,  that 
I was  close  behind  him.) 

should  not  imagine  that  was  true,’^  said  the  secre- 
tary; “he  is  so  occupied  with  Madame  d^Anville.’’ 

“Pooh  !”  said  Aberton,  dictatorially,  “s/ie  never  had 
any  thing  to  say  to  him.” 

“ Why  are  you  so  sure  ? ” said  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard. 
“Why  — because  he  never  showed  any  notes  from  her, 
nor  ever  even  said  he  had  a liaison  with  her  ! ” 

“Ah  ! that  is  quite  enough  ! ” said  Mr.  Howard  de 
Howard.  “ But,  is  not  that  the  Duchesse  de  Perpignan  ? ” 
Mr.  Aberton  turned,  and  so  did  I — our  eyes  met  — his 
fell  — well  they  might,  after  his  courteous  epithet  to  my 
name  ; however,  I had  far  too  good  an  opinion  of  myself 
to  care  one  straw  about  his  ; besides,  at  that  moment,  I 
was  wholly  lost  in  my  surprise  and  pleasure,  in  finding 
that  this  Duchesse  de  Perpignan  was  no  other  than  my 
acquaintance  of  the  morning.  She  caught  my  gaze  and 
smiled  as  she  bowed.  “ Now,”  thought  I,  as  I approached 
her,  “let  us  see  if  we  cannot  eclipse  Mr.  Aberton.” 

All  love-making  is  just  the  same,  and,  therefore,  I shall 
spare  the  reader  my  conversation  that  evening.  When 
he  recollects  that  it  was  Henry  Pelham  who  was  the 
gallant,  I am  persuaded  that  he  will  be  pretty  certain  as 
to  the  success. 


i^O 


PELHAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Alea  seqiia  vorax  species  certissima  furti 

Non  contenta  bonis,  animum  quoqne  perfida  mergit:  — 

Furca,  furax  — infamis,  iners,  furiosa,  ruina.*  — Petr.  Dial. 

I DINED  the  next  day  at  the  Freres  Proven5aux  ; an 
excellent  restaurateur’s,  by-the-by,  where  one  gets  irre- 
proachable gihier,  and  meets  few  English. f After  dinner, 
I strolled  into  the  various  gambling-houses,  with  which 
the  Palais  Royal  abounds. 

In  one  of  these  the  crowd  and  heat  were  so  great,  that 
I should  immediately  have  retired  if  I had  not  been  struck 
with  the  intense  expression  of  interest  in  the  countenance 
of  one  of  the  spectators  at  the  rouge  et  noir  table.  He 
was  a man  about  forty  years  of  age  ; his  complexion  was 
dark  and  sallow  ; the  features  prominent,  and  what  are 
generally  called  handsome  ; but  there  was  a certaiutsinis- 
ter  expression  in  his  eyes  and  mouth,  which  rendered  the 
effect  of  his  physiognomy  rather  disagreeable  than  pre- 
possessing. At  a small  distance  from  him,  and  playing, 

* Gaming,  that  direst  felon  of  the  breast, 

Steals  more  than  fortune  from  its  wretched  thrall, 

Spreads  o’er  the  soul  the  inert  devouring  pest, 

And  g'laws,  and  rots,  and  taints,  and  ruins  all. — Paraphrase, 
f Mr.  Pelham  could  not  say  as  much  for  the  Frlres  Proven^(iu% 
at  present! 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  I2i 

with  an  air  which,  in  its  carelessness  and  nonchalance , 
formed  a remarkable  contrast  to  the  painful  anxiety  of 
the  man  I have  just  described,  sate  Mr.  Thornton. 

At  first  sight,  these  two  appeared  to  be  the  only 
Englishmen  present  beside  myself;  I was  more  struck  by 
seeing  the  former  in  that  scene  than  I was  at  meeting 
Thornton  there  ; for  there  was  something  distinguished 
in  the  mien  of  the  stranger,  which  suited  far  worse  with 
the  appearance  of  the  place,  than  the  air  and  dress  of  my 
ci-devant  second. 

“ What ! another  Englishman  ? ” thought  I,  as  I turned 
round  and  perceived  a thick,  rough  great-coat,  which 
could  possibly  belong  to  no  continental  shoulders.  The 
wearer  was  standing  directly  opposite  the  seat  of  the 
swarthy  stranger ; his  hat  was  slouched  over  his  face  ; I 
moved  in  order  to  get  a clearer  view  of  his  countenance. 
It  was  the  same  person  I had  seen  with  Thornton  that 
morning.  Never  to  this  moment  have  I forgotten  the 
stern  and  ferocious  expression  with  which  he  was  gazing 
upon  the  keen  and  agitated  features  of  the  gambler  oppo- 
site. In  the  eye  and  lip  there  was  neither  pleasure,  hatred, 
nor  scorn,  in  their  simple  and  unalloyed  elements ; but 
each  seemed  blent  and  mingled  into  one  deadly  concen- 
tration of  evil  passions. 

This  man  neither  played,  nor  spoke,  nor  moved.  lie 
appeared  utterly  insensible  of  every  feeling  in  common 
with  those  around.  There  he  stood,  wrapped  in  his  own 
dark  and  inscrutable  thoughts,  never,  for  one  instant, 
taking  his  looks  from  the  varying  countenance  which  did 

1.— 11 


122 


PELHAM;  OR, 


not  observe  their  gaze,  nor  altering  the  withering  character 
of  their  almost  demoniacal  expression.  I could  not  tear 
myself  from  the  spot.  I felt  chained  by  some  mysterious 
and  undefinable  interest ; my  attention  was  first  diverted 
into  a new  channel,  by  aloud  exclamation  from  the  dark- 
visaged  gambler  at  the  table ; it  was  the  first  he  had 
uttered,  notwithstanding  his  anxiety;  and,  from  the  deep, 
thrilling  tone  in  which  it  was  expressed,  it  conveyed  a 
keen  sympathy  with  the  overcharged  feelings  which  it 
burst  from. 

With  a trembling  hand,  he  took  from  an  old  purse  the 
few  Napoleons  that  were  still  left  there.  He  set  them 
all  at  one  hazard  on  the  rouge.  He  hung  over  the  table 
with  a dropping  lip  ; his  hands  were  tightly  clasped  in 
each  other  ; his  nerves  seemed  strained  into  the  last  agony 
of  excitation.  I ventured  to  raise  my  eyes  upon  the  gaze, 
which  I felt  must  still  be  upon  the  gambler — there  it  was 
fixed,  and  stern  as  before  I — but  it  now  conveyed  a 
deeper  expression  of  joy  than  it  had  hitherto  assumed  ; 
yet  a joy  so  malignant  and  fiendish,  that  no  look  of  mere 
anger  or  hatred  could  have  equally  chilled  my  heart.  I 
dropped  my  eyes.  I redoubled  my  attention  to  the  cards 
• — the  last  two  were  to  be  turned  up.  A moment  more  I 
— the  fortune  was  to  the  noir.  The  stranger  had  lost! 
He  did  not  utter  a single  word.  He  looked  with  a vacant 
eye  on  :he  long  mace,  with  which  the  marker  had  swept 
away  his  last  hopes,  with  his  last  coin,  and  then,  rising,  left 
the  room,  and  disappeared. 

The  other  Englishman  was  not  long  in  following  him. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  123 


He  uttered  a short,  low  laugh,  unheard,  perhaps,  by  any 
one  but  myself ; and,  pushing  through  the  atmosphere  ol 
meres  / and  mille  tonnerres  I which  filled  that  pandemo- 
cium,  strode  quickly  to  the  door.  I felt  as  if  a load  had 
)een  taken  from  my  bosom,  when  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Reddere  personse  scit  convenientia  cuique.  * — Hor.  Ars  Poet. 

I WAS  loitering  over  my  breakfast  the  next  mornings 
and  thinking  of  the  last  night’s  scene,  when  Lord  Vincent 
was  announced. 

“ How  fares  the  gallant  Pelham  ? ” said  he,  as  he  entered 
the  room. 

Why,  to  say  the  truth,”  I replied,  I am  rather  under 
the  influence  of  blue  devils  this  morning,  and  your  visit  is 
like  a sun-beam  in  November.” 

‘‘A  bright  thought,”  said  Vincent,  and  I shall  make 
you  a very  pretty  little  poet  soon  ; publish  you  in  a neat 

octavo,  and  dedicate  you  to  Lady  D e.  Pray,  by- 

the-by,  have  you  ever  read  her  plays  ? You  know  they 
were  only  privately  printed?” 

‘"No,”  said  I,  (for  in  good  truth,  had  his  lordship 
interrogated  me  touching  any  other  literary  production, 


* The  appropriate  justice  sorts  each  shade  and  hue, 

Aid  gives  to  each  the  exact  proportion  due. — Paraphrase. 


124 


PELHAM;  OR, 


I should  have  esteemed  it  a part  of  my  present  character 
to  return  the  same  answer). 

No  ! repeated  Vincent ; permit  me  to  tell  you,  that 
you  must  never  seem  ignorant  of  any  work  not  published. 
To  be  admired,  one  must  always  know  what  other  people 
don’t  — and  then  one  has  full  liberty  to  sneer  at  the  value 
of  what  other  people  do  know.  Renounce  the  threshold 
of  knowledge.  There,  every  new  proselyte  can  meet  yon. 
Boast  of  your  acquaintance  with  the  sanctum,  and  not  one 
in  ten  thousand  can  dispute  it  with  you.  Have  you  read 
Monsieur  de  C ’s  pamphlet?” 

^‘Really,”  said  I,  I have  been  so  busy!” 

mon  cried  Vincent,  the  greatest  sign  of 

an  idle  man  is  to  complain  of  being  busy.  But  you  have 

had  a loss  : the  pamphlet  is  good.  C by  the  way, 

has  an  extraordinary,  though  not  an  expanded  mind  : it 
is  like  a citizen’s  garden  near  London  ; a pretty  parterre 
here,  and  a Chinese  pagoda  there  ; an  oak  tree  in  one 
corner,  and  a mushroom  bed  in  the  other  : and  above  all,  a 
Gothic  Ruin  opposite  the  bay-window  ! You  may  traverse 
the  whole  in  a stride  ; it  is  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe 
in  a mole-hill.  Yet  everything  is  good  in  its  kind  ; and  is 
neither  without  elegance  nor  design  in  its  arrangement.” 

What  do  you  think,”  said  I,  of  the  Barron  de 

the  minister  of ?” 

‘‘Of  him!”  replied  Vincent  — 

‘His  soul 

Still  sits  at  squat,  and  peeps  not  from  its  bole.* 

It  is  dark  and  bewildered  — full  of  dim  visions  of  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  125 


ancient  regime  ; — it  is  a bat  hovering  about  the  cells  of 
an  old  abbey.  Poor,  antique  little  soul  1 but  I will  say 
nothing  more  about  it  — 

‘For  who  would  be  satirical 
Upon  a thing  so  very  small’ 

as  the  soul  of  the  Baron  de ! ’’ 

Finding  Lord  Vincent  so  disposed  to  the  biting  mood, 
I immediately  directed  his  rabies  towards  Mr.  Aberton. 

“Aberton,’’  said  Vincent,  in  answer  to  my  question,  if 
he  knew  that  amiable  young  gentleman  — ‘‘  Yes  ! a sort 
of  man  who,  speaking  of  the  best  society,  says  we  — who 
sticks  his  he^t  cards  on  his  chimney-piece,  and  writes  himself 
billets-doux  from  duchesses,  A duodecimo  of  ‘ precious 
conceits,’  bound  in  calf-skin  — I know  the  man  well ; does 
he  not  dress  decently,  Pelham?” 

‘‘  His  clothes  are  well  made,”  said  I,  candidly. 

‘‘Ah  !”  said  Vincent,  “I  should  think  he  went  to  the 
best  tailor,  and  said,  ‘ Give  me  a collar  like  Lord  So  and 
So’s,’ ; one  who  would  not  dare  to  have  a new  waistcoat 
till  it  had  been  authoritatively  patronized,  and  who  took 
his  fashions,  like  his  follies,  from  the  best  proficients. 
Such  fellows  are  always  too  ashamed  of  themselves  not 
to  be  proud  of  their  clothes  ; — like  the  Chinese  mariners, 
they  burn  incense  before  the  needle 

“And  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard,”  said  I,  laughing, 
“what  do  you  think  of  him?” 

“ What ! the  thin  Eupatrid  ? ” cried  Vincent.  “ He  is 
the  mathematical  definition  of  a straight  line  — length 
without  breadth.  His  inseparable  friend,  Mr.  Aberton, 
11* 


126 


PELHAM;  OR, 


was  running  up  the  Rue  St  Houore  yesterday  in  order  to 
catch  him,  and  when  I ^saw  him  chasing  that  meagre 
apparition,  I said  to  Bennington,  'I  have  found  out  the 
real  Peter  Schlemil  !’  ‘Whom  (asked  his  grave  lord- 
ship,  with  serious  naivete)— ^Mv.  Aberton,’ said  I ; ‘don’t 
you  see  him  running  after  his  shadow  But  the  pride 
of  the  lean  thing  is  so  amusing  I He  is  fifteenth  cousin 
to  the  duke,  and  so  his  favorite  exordium  is  ‘ Whenever 
I succeed  to  the  titles  of  my  ancestors.’  It  was  but  the 
other  day,  that  he  heard  two  or  three  silly  young  men 
discussing  church  and  state,  and  they  began  by  talking 
irreligion  — (Mr.  Howard  de  Howard  is  too  unsubstantial 
not  to  be  spiritually  inclined)  — however  he  only  fidgeted 
in  his  chair.  They  then  proceeded  to  be  exceedingly 
disloyal.  Mr.  Howard  de  How^ard  fidgeted  again.  They 
then  passed  to  vituperations  on  the  aristocracy; — this 
the  attenuated  pomposity  {magni  nominis  umbra)  could 
brook  no  longer.  He  rose  up,  cast  a severe  look  on  the 
abashed  youths,  and  thus  addressed  them  — ‘ Gentlemen, 
I have  sate  by  in  silence,  and  heard  my  King  derided,  and 
my  God  blasphemed  ; but  now  when  you  attack  the  aris- 
tocracy, I can  no  longer  refrain  from  noticing  so  obviously 
intentional  an  insult.  You  have  become  personal d 

“ Pray,  Vincent,”  said  I,  after  a short  pause,  “did  you 
ever  meet  with  a Mr.  Thornton  at  Paris  ?” 

“ Thornton,  Thornton,”  said  Vincent,  musingly ; “ what, 
Tom  Thornton  ? ” 

“ I should  think,  very  likely,”  I replied  ; “just  the  sort 
of  man  who  would  be  Tom  Thornton  — has  a broad  face. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  12? 

with  a color,  and  wears  a spotted  neckcloth  ; Tom — what 
could  his  name  be  but  Tom  ? 

“ Is  he  about  five-and-thirty  asked  Vincent,  rather 
Ihort,  and  with  reddish-colored  hair  and  whiskers?” 

‘‘  Precisely,”  said  I ; are  not  all  Toms  alike  ? ” 

‘‘Ah,”  said  Vincent,  “I  know  him  Well ; he  is  a clever, 
shrewd  fellow,  but  a most  unmitigated  rascal.  He  is  the 
son  of  a steward  in  Lancashire,  and  received  an  attorney's 
education  ; but  being  a humorous,  noisy  fellow,  he  became 
a great  favorite  with  his  father’s  employer,  who  was  a sort 
of  Mecaenas  to  cudgel-players,  boxers,  and  horse-jockeys. 
At  his  house,  Thornton  met  many  persons  of  rank,  but 
of  a taste  similar  to  their  host’s  ; and  they,  mistaking  his 
vulgar  coarseness  for  honesty,  and  his  quaint  proverbs 
for  wit,  admitted  him  into  their  society.  It  was  with  one 
of  them  that  I have  seen  him.  I believe  of  late,  that  his 
character  has  been  of  a very  indifferent  odor:  and  what 
ever  has  brought  him  among  the  English  at  Paris — those 
white-washed  abominations — those  ‘innocent blacknesses,’ 
as  Charles  Lamb  calls  chimney-sweepers,  it  does  not  argue 
well  for  his  professional  occupations.  I should  think 
however,  that  he  manages  to  live  here  ; for  wherever  there 
are  English  fools,  there  are  fine  pickings  for  an  English 
rogue.” 

“Ay,”  said  I,  “ but  are  there  enough  fools  here  to  feed 
the  rogues  ? ” 

‘ Yes,  because  rogues  are  like  spiders,  and  eat  each 
other,  when  there  is  nothing  else  to  catch  ; and  Tom 
Thoruton  is  safe,  as  long  as  the  ordinary  law  of  nature 


128 


PELHAM;  OR, 


lasts,  that  the  greater  knave  preys  on  the  lesser, — for 
there  cannot  possibly  be  a greater  knave  than  he  is  ! If 
you  have  made  his  acquaintance,  my  dear  Pelham,  I advise 
you  most  soberly  to  look  to  yourself,  for  if  he  doth  not 
steal,  beg,  or  borrow  of  you,  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard 
will  grow  fat,  and  even  Mr.  Aberton  cease  to  be  a fool. 
And  now,  most  noble  Pelham,  farewell.  II  est  plus  aise 
d^etre  sage  pour  les  autres  que  de  Vetrepour  soi-meme.^^  ♦ 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

This  is  a notable  couple  — and  have  met 

But  for  some  secret  knavery. — The  Tanner  of  Tyburn, 

I HAD  now  been  several  weeks  in  Paris,  and  I was  not 
altogether  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  they  had 
been  spent.  I had  enjoyed  myself  to  the  utmost,  while 
I had,  as  much  as  possible,  combined  profit  with  pleasure  ; 
viz.,  if  I went  to  the  Opera  in  the  evening,  I learned  to 
dance  in  the  morning  ; if  I drove  to  a soiree  at  the 
Huchesse  de  Perpignan’s,  it  was  not  till  I had  fenced  an 
hour  at  the  Salon  des  Assauts  d'Armes  ; in  short,  I took 
the  greatest  pains  to  complete  my  education. — I wish  all 
young  men  who  frequented  the  Continent  for  that  purpose 
could  say  the  same  ! 

One  day  (about  a week  after  the  conversation  with 


* It  is  more  easy  to  be  wise  for  others  than  for  oneself. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  129 

Vincent,  recorded  in  my  last  chapter)  I was  walking 
slowly  along  one  of  the  paths  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes^ 
meditating  upon  the  various  excellencies  of  the  Roclier 
de  Cancale  and  the  Duchesse  de  Perpignan,  when  I 
perceived  a tall  man,  with  a thick,  rough  coat,  of  a dark 
color  (which  I recognized  long  before  I did  the  face  of 
the  wearer)  emerging  from  an  intersecting  path.  lie 
stopped  a few  moments,  and  looked  around  as  if  expecting 
some  one.  Presently  a woman,  apparently  about  thirty, 
and  meanly  dressed,  appeared  in  an  opposite  direction. 
She  approached  him  ; they  exchanged  a few  words,  and 
then,  the  woman  taking  his  arm,  they  struck  into  another 
path,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight.  I suppose  that  the 
reader  has  already  discovered  that  this  man  was  Thornton’s 
companion  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne^  and  the  hero  of  the 
gaming-house,  in  the  Palais  Royal.  I could  not  have 
supposed  that  so  noble  a countenance,  even  in  its  frowns, 
could  ever  have  wasted  its  smiles  upon  a mistress  of  the 
low  station  to  which  the  woman  who  had  met  him  evi- 
dently belonged.  However,  we  all  have  our  little  foibles, 
as  the  Frenchman  said,  when  he  boiled  his  grandmother’s 
head  in  a pipkin. 

I myself  was,  at  that  time,  the  sort  of  person  that  is 
always  taken  by  a pretty  face,  however  coarse  may  be  the 
garments  whi^h  set  it  off ; and  although  I cannot  say  that 
I ever  stooped  so  far  as  to  become  amorous  of  a cham- 
bermaid, yet  I could  be  tolerably  lenient  to  any  man  under 
thirty  who  did.  As  a proof  of  this  gentleness  of  dispo- 
sit'on,  ten  minutes  after  I had  witnessed  so  unsuitable  a 


1 


130 


PELHAM;  OR, 


rencontre,  I found  myself  following  a pretty  little  grisette 
into  a small  sort  of  cabaret,  which  was,  at  the  time  I speak 
of  (and  most  probably  still  is),  in  the  midst  of  the  gardens. 
I sat  down,  and  called  for  my  favorite  drink  of  lemonade  : 
the  little  grisette,  who  was  with  an  old  woman,  possibly 
her  mother,  and  un  beau  gros  gargon,  probably  her  lover, 
sat  opposite,  and  began,  with  all  the  ineffable  coquetries 
of  her  country,  to  divide  her  attention  between  the  said 
gargon  and  myself.  Poor  fellow,  he  seemed  to  be  very 
little  pleased  by  the  significant  glances  exchanged  over 
his  right  shoulder,  and  at  last,  under  pretence  of  screen- 
ing her  from  the  draught  of  the  opened  window,  placed 
himself  exactly  between  us.  This,  however  ingenious,  did 
not  at  all  answer  his  expectations;  for  he  had  not  suffi- 
ciently taken  into  consideration,  that  I also  was  endowed 
with  the  power  of  locomotion  ; accordingly  I shifted  my 
chair  about  three  feet,  and  entirely  defeated  the  counter 
march  of  the  enemy. 

But  this  flirtation  did  not  last  long  ; the  youth  and  the 
old  woman  appeared  very  much  of  the  same  opinion  as  to 
its  impropriety;  and  accordingly,  like  experienced  generals, 
resolved  to  conquer  by  a retreat ; they  drank  up  their 
orgeat  — paid  for  it  — placed  the  wavering  regiment  in 
the  middle,  and  then  quitted  the  field.  I was  not,  however, 
of  a disposition  to  break  my  heart  at  such  an  occurrence, 
and  I remained  by  the  window,  drinking  my  lemonade, 
and  muttering  to  myself,  “After  all,  women  are  a bore  !” 

On  the  outside  of  the  cabaret,  and  just  under  my  window, 
was  a bench,  which,  for  a certain  number  of  sous,  one 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  131 

might  appropriate  to  the  entire  and  unparticipated  use  of 
one’s-self  and  party.  An  old  woman  (so  at  least  I suppose 
by  her  voice,  for  I did  not  give  myself  the  trouble  of  look- 
ing,— though,  indeed  as  to  that  matter,  it  might  have 
been  the  shrill  treble  of  Mr.  Howard  do  Howard  !)  had 
been  hitherto  engrossing  this  settlement  with  some  gallant 
or  other.  In  Paris,  no  woman  is  too  old  to  get  an  amant, 
either  by  love  or  money.  This  couple  soon  paired  off, 
and  was  immediately  succeeded  by  another.  The  first 
tones  of  the  man’s  voice,  low  as  they  were,  made  me  start 
from  my  seat.  I cast  one  quick  glance  before  I resumed  it. 
The  new  pair  were  the  Englishman  I had  before  noted  in 
the  garden,  and  the  female  companion  who  had  joined  him. 

Two  hundred  pounds,  you  say  ? ” muttered  the  man  ; 
“we  must  have  it  all.” 

“ But,”  returned  the  woman,  in  the  same  whispered 
voice,  “he  says,  that  he  will  never  touch  another  card.” 

The  man  laughed.  “ Fool,”  said  he,  “ the  passions  are 
not  so  easily  quelled  — how  many  days  is  it  since  he  had 
this  remittance  from  England  ? ” 

“About  three,”  replied  the  woman. 

“And  is  it  absolutely  the  very  last  remnant  of  his 
property  ? ” 

“The  last.” 

“ I am  then  to  understand,  that  when  this  is  spent  there 
is  nothing  between  him  and  beggary  ? ” 

“ Nothing,”  said  the  woman,  with  a half  sigh. 

The  man  laughed  again,  and  then  rejoined  in  an  altered 
tone,  “Then,  then  will  this  parching  thirst  be  quenched 


T32 


PELHAM;  OR, 


at  last.  I tell  you,  woman,  that  it  is  many  months  since 
I have  known  a day  — night  — hour,  in  which  my  life  has 
been  as  the  life  of  other  men.  My  whole  soul  has  been 
melted  down  into  one  burning,  burning  thought.  Feel 
this  hand  — ay,  you  may  well  start  — but  what  is  the  fever 
cf  the  frame  to  that  within  ? ’’ 

Here  the  voice  sank  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible.  The 
woman  seemed  as  if  endeavoring  to  soothe  him  ; at  length 
he  said  — 

‘‘But  poor  Tyrrell  — you  will  not,  surely,  suffer  him  to 
starve,  to  die  of  actual  want,  abandoned  and  alone  ! 

“Alone  I no  I ’’  cried  her  companion,  fiercely.  “When 
the  last  agonies  shall  be  upon  that  man  — when,  sick  with 
weariness,  pain,  disease,  hunger,  he  lies  down  to  die  — 
when  the  death-gurgle  is  in  the  throat,  and  the  eye  swims 
beneath  the  last  dull  film  — when  remembrance  peoples 
the  chamber  with  Hell,  and  his  cowardice  would  falter 
forth  its  dastard  recantation  to  Heaven  — then — may  I 
he  there  ! ’’ 

There  was  a long  pause,  only  broken  by  the  woman’s 
sobs,  which  she  appeared  endeavoring  to  stifle.  At  last 
the  man  rose,  and  in  a tone  so  soft  that  it  seemed  literally 
like  music,  addressed  her  in  the  most  endearing  terms. 
She  soon  yielded  to  their  persuasion,  and  replied  to  them 
with  interest. 

“ Spite  of  the  stings  of  my  remorse,”  she  said,  “as  long 
as  I lose  not  you,  I will  lose  life,  honor,  hope,  even  soul 
itself!  ” 

They  both  quitted  the  spot  as  she  said  this. 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

At  length  the  treacherous  snare  was  laid, 

Poor  pug  was  caught  — to  town  convey’d; 

There  sold.  How  envied  was  his  doom, 

Made  captive  in  a lady’s  room! — Gay’s  Fables. 

I WAS  sitting  alone  a morning  or  two  after  this  adventure^ 
when  Bedos,  entering,  announced  une  dame. 

This  dame  was  a fine  tall  thing,  dressed  out  like  a print 
in  the  Magasin  des  Modes.  She  sate  herself  down,  threw 
up  her  veil,  and,  after  a momentary  pause,  asked  me  if  I 
liked  my  apartment? 

Yery  much,’^  said  I,  somewhat  surpised  at  the  nature 
of  the  interrogatory. 

'‘Perhaps  you  would  wish  it  altered  in  some  way  ? ^’ 
rejoined  the  lady. 

“ Non  — Mille  remercimens  I said  I — " you  are  very 
good  to  be  so  interested  in  my  accommodation.^’ 

" Those  curtains  might  be  better  arranged  — that  sofa 
replaced  with  a more  elegant  one,”  continued  my  new 
superintendent. 

" Really,”  said  I,  " I am  too,  too  much  flattered.  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  have  my  rooms  altogether ; if  so, 
make  at  least  no  scruple  of  saying  it.” 

"Oh,  no,”  replied  the  lady,  "I  have  no  objection  tx) 
your  staying  here.” 

1—12 


iS4 


PELHAM; 


You  are  too  kind,’^  said  I,  with  a low  bow. 

There  was  pause  of  some  moments  — I took  advantage 
of  it. 

**  I think,  madame,  I have  the  honor  of  speaking  to  — 
to  — to  — ’’ 

^'The  mistress  of  the  hotel.’’ said  the  lady,  quietly.  I 
merely  called  to  ask  you  how  you  did,  and  hope  you  were 
well  accommodated.” 

“Rather  late,  considering  I have  been  six  weeks  in  the 
house,”  thought  I,  revolving  in  my  mind  various  reports 
[ had  heard  of  my  present  visitor’s  disposition  to  gallantry. 
ETowever,  seeing  it  was  all  over  with  me,  I resigned  myself, 
tvith  the  patience  of  a martyr,  to  the  fate  that  I foresaw. 
I rose,  approached  her  chair,  took  her  hand  (very  hard 
and  thin  it  was  too),  and  thanked  her  with  a most  affec- 
tionate squeeze. 

“ I have  seen  much  English  ! ” said  the  lady,  for  the  first 
time  speaking  in  our  language. 

“Ah  ! ” said  I,  giving  another  squeeze. 

“You  are  a handsome  gargon,^^  renewed  the  lady. 

“ 1 am  so,”  I replied. 

At  that  moment  Bedos  entered,  and  whispered  that 
Madame  d’Anville  was  in  the  ante-room. 

“ Good  Heavens  ! ” said  I,  knowing  her  jealousy  of 
disposition,  “what  is  to  be  done  ? Oblige  me,  madame,” 
seizing  the  unfortunate  mistress  of  the  hotel,  and  opening 
tne  door  to  the  back  entrance — “There,”  said  I,  “you 
can  easily  escape.  Bon  jour.'^ 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  135 

Hardly  had  I closed  the  door,  and  put  the  key  in  my 
pocket,  before  Madame  d’Anville  entered. 

“ Is  it  by  your  order  that  your  servant  keeps  me  waiting 
in  your  ante-room?’’  said  she,  haughtily. 

1 endeavored  to  make  my  peace  ; but  all  my  complais- 
ance was  in  vain  — she  was  jealous  of  my  intimacy  with 
the  Duchesse  de  Perpignan,  and  glad  of  any  excuse  to 
vent  her  pique.  Fortunately,  however,  she  was  going  to 
the  Luxembourg  ; and  my  only  chance  of  soothing  her 
anger  was  to  accompany  her. 

Down  stairs,  therefore,  we  went,  and  drove  to  the 
Luxembourg  ; I gave  Bedos,  before  my  departure,  various 
little  commissions,  and  told  him  he  need  not  be  at  home 
till  the  evening.  Long  before  the  expiration  of  an  hour, 
Madame  d’Anville’s  ill-humor  had  given  me  an  excuse  for 
affecting  it  myself.  Tired  to  death  of  her,  and  panting 
for  release,  I took  a high  tone  — complained  of  her  ill- 
temper,  and  her  want  of  love  — spoke  rapidly  — waited 
for  no  reply,  and,  leaving  her  at  the  Luxembourg,  pro- 
ceeded forthwith  to  Galignani’s,  like  a man  just  delivered 
from  a strait-waistcoat. 

Leave  me  now,  for  a few  minutes,  in  the  reading-room 
at  Galignani’s,  and  return  to  the  mistress  of  the  hotel, 
whom  I had  so  unceremoniously  thrust  out  of  my  salon. 
The  passage  into  which  she  had  been  put  communicated 
by  one  door  with  my  rooms,  and  by  another  with  the 
staircase.  Now,  it  so  happened,  that  Bedos  was  in  the 
habit  of  locking  the  latter  door,  and  keeping  the  key  ; 
the  other  egress,  it  will  be  remembered,  I myself  had 


13C 


PELHAM;  OR, 


secured  ; so  that  the  unfortunate  mistress  of  the  hotel  waa 
no  sooner  turned  into  this  passage,  than  she  found  herself 
in  a sort  of  dungeon,  ten  feet  by  five,  and  surrounded,  like 
Eve  in  Paradise,  by  a whole  creation — not  of  birds,  beasts, 
and  fishes,  but  of  brooms,  brushes,  linen  for  the  laundress, 
and  — a wood  basket ! What  she  was  to  do  in  this  di- 
lemma was  utterly  inconceivable ; scream,  indeed,  she 
might,  but  then  the  shame  and  ridicule  of  being  discov- 
ered in  so  equivocal  a situation,  were  somewhat  more 
than  our  discreet  landlady  could  endure.  Besides,  such 
an  expose  might  be  attended  with  a loss  the  good  woman 
valued  more  than  reputation,  viz.,  lodgers  ; for  the  pos- 
sessors of  the  two  best  floors  were  both  Englishwomen 
of  a certain  rank ; and  my  landlady  had  heard  such 
accounts  of  our  national  virtue,  that  she  feared  an  instan- 
taneous emigration  of  such  inveterate  prudes,  if  her  screams 
and  situation  reached  their  ears. 

Quietly  then,  and  soberly,  did  the  good  lady  sit,  eyeing 
the  brooms  and  brushes  as  they  grew  darker  and  darker 
with  the  approach  of  the  evening,  and  consoling  herself 
with  the  certainty  that  her  release  must  eventually  take 
place. 

Meanwhile,  to  return  to  myself — I found  Lord  Yincent 
at  Galignani’s,  carefully  looking  over  Choice  Extracts 
from  the  best  English  Authors.’^ 

“Ah,  my  good  fellow  I said  he,“  I am  delighted  to 
see  you  : I made -such  a capital  quotation  just  now : the 
young  Benningtons  were  drowning  a poor  devil  of  a 
puppy ; the  youngest  fto  whom  the  mother  belonged) 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


131 


looked  on  with  a grave,  earnest  face,  till  the  last  kick  was 
over,  and  then  burst  into  tears.  ^ Why  do  you  cry  so  ? ’ 
said  1.  * Because  it  was  so  cruel  in  us  to  drown  the  poor 
puppy  I’’  replied  the  juvenile  Philocunos.  ^ Pooh  ! ’ said 
1 ; Quid  juvat  errores  mersd  jam  puppe  fateri  Was 
it  not  good  ? — you  remember  it  in  Claudian,  eh,  Pelham  ? 
Think  of  its  being  thrown  away  on  those  Latinless  young 
lubbers  ! Have  you  seen  anything  of  Mr.  Thornton 
lately  ? ” 

No,’^  said  I,  I’ve  not ; but  I am  determined  to  have 
that  pleasure  soon.” 

You  will  do  as  you  please,”  said  Vincent,  “but  you 
will  be  like  the  child  playing  with  edged  tools.” 

“I  am  not  a child,”  said  I,  “so  the  simile  is  not  good. 
He  must  be  the  devil  himself,  or  a Scotchman  at  least,  to 
take  me  in.” 

Vincent  shook  his  head.  “ Come  and  dine  with  me  at 
the  Rocher,”  said  he;  “we  are  a party  of  six  — choice 
spirits  all.” 

“ Volontiers ; but  we  can  stroll  in  the  Tuileries  first, 
if  you  have  no  other  engagement.” 

“None,”  said  Vincent,  putting  his  arm  in  mine. 

After  an  hour’s  walk,  Vincent  suddenly  recollected  that 
he  had  a commission  of  a very  important  nature  in  the 
Hue  J.  J.  Rousseau.  This  was  — to  buy  a monkey.  “ It 
is  for  Wormwood,”  said  he,  “ who  has  written  me  a long 
i'etter,  describing  its  qualities  and  qualifications.  I suppose 
he  wants  it  for  some  practical  joke  — some  embodied 
12* 


J38 


PELHAM;  OR, 

bitterness  — Heaven  forbid  I should  thwart  him  in  so 
charitable  a design  I 

“Amen,”  said  I ; and  we  proceeded  together  to  the 
monkey-fancier.  After  much  deliberation,  we  at  last 
decided  upon  the  most  hideous  animal  I ever  beheld  — it 
was  of  a — no,  I will  not  attempt  to  describe  it  — it  would 
be  quite  impossible  I Vincent  was  so  delighted  with  our 
choice,  that  he  insisted  upon  carrying  it  away  immediately. 

“ Is  it  quite  quiet  ? ” I asked. 

“ Comme  un  oiseau^'^''  said  the  man. 

We  called  a fiacre  — paid  for  Monsieur  Jocko,  and 
drove  to  Vincent’s  apartments  ; there  we  found,  however, 
that  his  valet  had  gone  out  and  taken  the  key. 

“Hang  it,”  said  Vincent,  “it  does  not  signify  ! We’ll 
carry  le  petit-monsievr  with  us  to  the  Rocher.” 

Accordingly  we  all  three  once  more  entered  fiacre y 

and  drove  to  the  celebrated  restaurateur’s  of  the  Rue 
Mont  Orgueil.  0,  blissful  recollections  of  that  dinner  ! 
how  at  this  moment  you  crowd  upon  my  delighted  remem- 
brance I Lonely  and  sorrowful  as  I now  sit,  digesting 
with  many  a throe  the  iron  thews  of  a British  beefsteak 
— more  Anglico — immeasurably  tough — I see  the  grateful 
apparitions  of  Escallopes  de  Saumon  and  Laitavces  de 
Carpes  rise  in  a gentle  vapor  before  my  eyes  ! breathing 
a sw  eet  and  pleasant  odor,  and  contrasting  the  dream-like 
delicacies  of  their  hue  and  aspect,  with  the  dire  and  dure 
realities  which  now  weigh  so  heavily  on  the  region  below 
my  heart  I And  thou,  most  beautiful  of  all  — thou  evening 
star  of  entremets  — thou  that  delightest  in  truffles,  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  139 

gloriest  in  a dark  cloud  of  sauces  — exquisite  foie  gras  f 

— Have  I forgotten  thee?  Do  I not,  on  the  contrary, 

see  thee  — smell  thee  — taste  thee  — and  almost  die  with 

rapture  of  thy  possession  ? What,  though  the  goose,  of 

which  thou  art  a part,  has,  indeed,  been  roasted  alive  by 

a slow  fire,  in  order  to  increase  thy  divine  proportions  — 

yet  has  not  our  Almanack  — the  Almanack  des  Gour- 

mands  — truly  declared  that  the  goose  rejoiced  amid  all 

her  tortures  — because  of  the  glory  that  awaited  her? 

Did  she  not,  in  prophetic  vision,  behold  her  enlarged  and 

ennobled  foie  dilate  into  jod/es  and  steam  into  sautes  — 

the  companion  of  truffles  — the  glory  of  dishes  — the 

delight  — the  treasure  — the  transport  of  gourmands  I 

0,  exalted  among  birds  — apotheosized  goose,  did  not 

thy  heart  exult  even  when  thy  liver  parched  and  swelled 

within  thee,  from  that  most  agonizing  death  ; and  didst 

thou  not,  like  the  Indian  at  the  stake,  triumph  in  the  very 

torments  which  alone  could  render  thee  illustrious  ? 

\ 

After  dinner  we  grew  exceedingly  merry.  Vincent 
punned  and  quoted  ; we  laughed  and  applauded  ; and  our 
Burgundy  went  round  with  an  alacrity  to  which  every 
new  joke  gave  an  additional  impetus.  Monsieur  Jocko 
was  by  no  means  the  dullest  in  the  party  ; he  cracked  his 
nuts  with  as  much  grace  as  we  did  our  jests,  and  grinned 
and  chattered  as  facetiously  as  the  best  of  us.  After 
coffee  we  were  all  so  pleased  with  one  another,  that  we 
resolved  not  to  separate,  and  accordingly  we  adjourned 
to  my  rooms.  Jocko  and  all,  to  find  new  revelries  and 
grow  brilliant  over  Cura9oa  punch. 


140 


PELHAM;  OR, 

We  entered  ray  salon  with  a roar,  and  set  Bedos  to 
work  at  the  punch  forthwith.  Bedos,  that  Ganymede  of 
a valet,  had  himself  but  just  arrived,  aad  was  unlocking 
the  door  as  we  entered.  We  soon  blew  up  a glorious  fire, 
and  our  spirits  brightened  in  proportion.  Monsieur  Jocko 
sate  on  Vincent’s  knee — “ Ne  monstrom,”  as  he  classically 
termed  it.  One  of  our  compotatores  was  playing  with 
it.  Jocko  grew  suddenly  in  earnest  — a grin  — a scratch, 
and  a bite,  were  the  work  of  a moment. 

^^Ne  quid  nimis  — now,”  said  Vincent,  gravely,  instead 
of  endeavoring  to  soothe  the  afflicted  party,  w^ho  grew 
into  a towering  passion.  Nothing  but  Jocko’s  absolute 
disgrace  could  indeed  have  saved  his  life  from  the  ven- 
geance of  the  sufferer. 

Whither  shall  we  banish  him  said  Vincent. 

“Oh,”  I replied,  “put  him  out  in  that  back  passage; 
the  outer  door  is  shut ; he’ll  be  quite  safe  ; ” and  to  the 
passage  he  was  therefore  immediately  consigned. 

It  was  in  this  place,  the  reader  will  remember,  that  the 
hapless  dame  du  ChMeau  was  at  that  very  instant  in  “ du- 
rance vile.”  Unconscious  of  this  fact,  I gave  Bedos  the 
key,  he  took  the  condemned  monkey,  opened  the  door, 
thrust  Jocko  in,  and  closed  it  again.  Meanwhile  we 
resumed  our  merriment. 

“ Nu71c  esf  hibendum,^^  said  Vincent,  as  Bedos  placed 
the  punch  on  the  table.  “ Give  us  a toast,  Dartmore.” 

Lord  Dartmore  was  a young  man,  with  tremendous 
spirits,  which  made  up  for  wit.  He  was  just  about  to 
reply,  when  a loud  shriek  was  heard  from  Jocko’s  place 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  I4c\ 


of  banishment : a sort  of  scramble  ensued,  and  the  next 
moment  the  door  was  thrown  violently  open,  and  in  rushed 
the  terrified  landlady,  screaming  like  a sea-gull,  and  bear- 
ing aloft  upon  her  shoulder,  from  which  “bad  eminence” 
he  was  grinning  and  chattering  with  the  fury  of  fifty  devils. 
She  ran  twice  round  the  room,  and  then  sank  on  the  floor 
in  hysterics,  feigned  or  real.  We  lost  no  time  in  hastening 
to  her  assistance  ; but  the  warlike  Jocko,  still  sitting  upon 
her,  refused  to  permit  one  of  us  to  approach.  There  he 
sat,  turning  from  side  to  side,  showing  his  sharp,  white 
teeth,  and  uttering  from  time  to  time  the  most  menacing 
and  diabolical  sounds. 

“ What  the  deuce  shall  we  do  ? ” cried  Dartmore. 

said  Yincent,  who  was  convulsed  with  laughter, 
and  yet  endeavoring  to  speak  gravely  ; “ why,  watch  like 
L.  Opimius,  ^ ne  qaid  respublica  detrimenti  capereV  ” 

“ By  Jove,  Pelham,  he  will  scratch  out  the  lady’s  beaux 
!/ewx,”  cried  the  good-natured  Dartmore,  endeavoring  to 
seize  the  monkey  by  the  tail,  for  which  he  very  narrowly 
escaped  with  an  unmutilated  visage.  But  the  man  who 
had  before  suffered  by  Jocko’s  ferocity,  and  whose  breast 
was  still  swelling  with  revenge,  was  glad  of  so  favorable 
an  opportunity  and  excuse  for  wreaking  it.  He  seized 
the  poker,  made  three  strides  to  Jocko,  who  set  up  an 
ineffable  cry  of  defiance  — and  with  a single  blow  split 
the'  skull  of  the  unhappy  monkey  in  twain.  It  fell  with 
one  convulsion  on  the  ground  and  gave  up  the  ghost. 

We  then  raised  the  unfortunate  landlady,  placed  her 
oii  the  sofa,  and  Dartmore  administered  a plentiful  pota- 


142 


PELHAM;  OR, 


tion  of  the  Curajoa  punch.  By  slow  degrees  she  revived^ 
gave  three  most  doleful  suspirations,  and  then,  starting  up 
gazed  wildly  around  her.  Half  of  us  were  still  laughing 
■ — my  unfortunate  self  among  the  number ; this  the  enraged 
landlady  no  sooner  perceived  than  she  imagined  herself 
the  victim  of  some  preconcerted  villany.  Her  lips  trem- 
bled with  passion  — she  uttered  the  most  dreadful  impre- 
cations ; and  had  I not  retired  into  a corner,  and  armed 
myself  with  the  dead  body  of  Jocko,  which  I wielded  with 
exceeding  valor,  she  might,  with  the  simple  weapons  with 
which  nature  had  provided  her  hands,  have  for  ever  de- 
molished the  loves  and  graces  that  abide  in  the  face  of 
Henry  Pelham. 

When  at  last  she  saw  that  nothing  hostile  was  at  present 
to  be  effected,  she  drew  herself  up,  and  giving  Bedos  a 
tremendous  box  on  the  ear,  as  he  stood  grinning  beside 
her,  marched  out  of  the  room. 

We  then  again  rallied  around  the  table,  more  than  ever 
disposed  to  be  brilliant,  and  kept  up  till  day-break  a con- 
tinued fire  of  jests  upon  the  heroine  of  the  pa  ssage  : cum 
qua  (as  Vincent  happily  observed)  clauditur  adversu 
innoxia  simia  fatisP^ 


ADVENTTJRUS  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


143 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

' Show  me  not  thy  painted  beauties, 

These  impostures  I defy. — George  Withers, 

The  cave  of  Falri  smelt  not  more  delicately ; — on  every  side 
appeared  the  marks  of  drunkenness  and  gluttony.  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  cave  the  sorcerer  lay  extended,  &c. 

Mirglip  the  Persian,  in  the  Tales  of  the  Genii. 

I WOKE  the  next  morning  with  an  aching  head  and 
feverish  frame.  Ah,  those  midnight  carousals,  how 
glorious  they  would  be  if  there  were  no  next  morning  1 
I took  my  sauterne  and  soda-water  in  my  dressing-room  : 
and,  as  indisposition  always  makes  me  meditative,  I 
thought  over  all  I had  done  since  my  arrival  at  Paris.  I 
had  become  {that^  Heaven  knows,  I soon  manage  to  do) 
rather  a talked-of  and  noted  character.  It  is  true  that  I 
was  everywhere  abused  — one  found  fault  with  my  neck- 
cloth— another  with  my  mind  — the  lank  Mr.  Abert^a 
declared  that  I put  my  hair  in  papers,  and  the  stuffed  Sir 
Henry  Millington  said  I was  a thread-paper  myself.  One 
blamed  my  riding — a second  my  dancing  — a third  won- 
dered how  any  woman  could  like  me,  and  a fourth  said 
that  no  woman  ever  could. 

^ On  one  point,  however,  all  — friends  and  foes  — were 
alike  agreed : viz.,  that  I was  a consummate  puppy,  and 
excessively  well  satisfied  with  myself.  Perhaps,  they  w re 
not  much  mistaken  there.  Why  is  it,  by-the-by,  that  to 


IH 


PELHAM;  OR. 


be  pleased  with  one’s-self  is  the  surest  way  of  offending 
everybody  else?  If  any  one,  male  or  female,  an  evident 
admirer  of  his  or  her  own  perfections,  enter  a room,  how 
perturbed,  restless,  and  unhappy  every  individual  of  the 
offender’s  sex  instantly  becomes  : for  them  not  only  enjoy- 
ment but  tranquillity  is  over,  and  if  they  could  annihilate 
the  unconscious  victim  of  their  spleen,  I fully  believe  no 
Christian  toleration  would  come  in  the  way  of  that  last 
extreme  of  animosity.  For  a coxcomb  there  is  no  mercy 

— for  a coquette  no  pardon.  They  are,  as  it  were,  the 
dissenters  of  society  — no  crime  is  too  bad  to  be  imputed 
to  them  ; they  do  not  believe  the  religion  of  others  — 
they  set  up  a deity  of  their  own  vanity  — all  the  orthodox 
vanities  oi  others  are  offended.  Then  comes  the  bigotry 

— the  stake  — the  auto-da-fe  of  scandal.  What,  alas! 
is  so  implacable  as  the  rage  of  vanity  ? What  so  restless 
as  its  persecution  ? Take  from  a man  his  fortune,  his 
house,  his  reputation,  but  flatter  his  vanity  in  each,  and 
he  will  forgive  you.  Heap  upon  him  benefits,  fill  him 
with  blessings : but  irritate  his  self-love,  and  you  have 
made  the  very  best  man  ungrateful.  He  will  sting  you  if 
he  can  : you  cannot  blame  him  ; you  yourself  have  instilled 
the  venom.  This  is  one  reason  why  you  must  rarely 
reckon  upon  gratitude  in  conferring  an  obligation.  It  is 
a very  high  mind  to  which  gratitude  is  not  a painful 
sensation.  If  you  wish  to  please,  you  will  find  it  wiser  to 
receive  — solicit  even  — favors,  than  accord  them  : for  the 
vanity  of  the  obliger  is  always  flattered  — that  of  the 
obligee  rarely 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  145 

Well,  this  is  an  unforeseen  digression  ; let  me  return  ? 
I had  mixed,  of  late,  very  little  with  the  English.  My 
mother^s  introductions  had  procured  me  the  entree  of  the 
best  French  houses;  and  to  them,  therefore,  my  evenings 
were  usually  devoted.  Alas  ! that  was  a happy  time,  when 
my  carriage  used  to  await  me  at  the  door  of  the  Rocher 
de  Cancale,  and  then  whirl  me  to  a succession  of  visits, 
varying  in  their  degree  and  nature  as  the  whim  prompted  : 

now  to  the  brilliant  soirees  of  Madame  de , or  to  the 

o.ppartement  au  troiseme  of  some  less  celebrated  daughter 
of  dissipation  and  ecarte  ; — now  to  the  literary  conver- 
saziones of  the  Duchesse  de  D s,  or  the  Yicomte  d’ , 

and  then  to  the  feverish  excitement  of  the  gambling-house. 
Passing  from  each  with  the  appetite  for  amusement  kept 
alive  by  variety  ; finding  in  none  a disappointment,  and 
in  every  one  a welcome  ; full  of  the  health  which  supports, 
and  the  youth  which  colors  all  excess  or  excitement,  J 
drained,  with  an  unsparing  lip,  whatever  enjoyment  that 
enchanting  metropolis  could  afford. 

I have  hitherto  said  but  little  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Perpignan  ; I think  it  necessary  now  to  give  some  account 
of  that  personage.  Ever  since  the  evening  I had  met  her 
at  the  ambassador’s,  I paid  her  the  most  unceasing  atten- 
tions. I soon  discovered  that  she  had  a curious  sort  of 
liaison  with  one  of  the  attaches  — a short  ill-made  gen- 
tleman, with  high  shoulders  and  a pale  face,  who  wore  a 
blue  coat  and  a buff  waistcoat,  wrote  bad  verses,  and 
thought  himself  handsome.  All  Paris  said  she  was  ex- 
cessively enamoured  of  this  youth.  As  for  me^  I had  not 
I.  — 13  K 


146 


PELHA^l;  OR, 


known  her  four  days  before  I discovered  that  she  could 
jiot  be  excessively  enamoured  of  anything  but  an  oyster 
pate  and  Lord  Byron’s  Corsair.  Her  mind  was  the  most 
marvellous  melange  of  sentiment  and  its  opposite.  In 
her  amours  she  was  Liicretia  herself ; in  her  epicurism 
Apicius  would  have  yielded  to  her.  She  was  pleased  with 
sighs,  but  she  adored  suppers.  She  would  leave  everything 
for  her  lover,  except  her  dinner.  The»atoc7ie  soon  quar- 
relled with  her,  and  I was  installed  into  the  platonic  honors 
of  his  office. 

At  first,  I own  that  I was  flattered  by  her  choice,  and 
though  she  was  terribly  exacting  of  my  petits  soins,  I 
managed  to  keep  up  her  affection,  and,  what  is  still  more 
wonderful,  my  own,  for  the  better  part  of  a month.  What 
then  cooled  me  was  the  following  occurrence  : — 

I was  in  her  boudoir  one  evening,  when  her  femme  de 
chambre  came  to  tell  us  that  the  Due  was  in  the  passage. 
Notwithstanding  the  innocence  of  our  attachment,  the 
Duchesse  was  in  a violent  fright ; a small  door  was  at  the 
left  of  the  ottoman,  on  which  we  were  sitting.  “ Oh,  no, 
no,  not  there!”  cried  the  lady;  but  I,  who  saw  no  other 
refuge,  entered  it  forthwith,  and  before  she  could  ferret 
me  out,  the  Due  was  in  the  room. 

In  the  meanwhile,  I amused  myself  by  examining  the 
wonders  of  the  new  world  into  which  I had  so  abruptly 
immerged  : on  a small  table  before  me,  was  deposited  a 
remarkably  constructed  night-cap  ; I examined  it  as  a 
curiosity ; on  each  side  was  placed  une  petite  cotelette  ne 
veau  crUy  sewed  on  with  ereen-colored  silk  (I  remember 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  147 

even  the  smallest  rainutise)  : a beautiful  golden  wig  (the 
Duchesse  never  liked  me  to  play  with  her  hair)  w^as  on  a 
block  close  by,  and  on  another  table  was  a set  of  teeth, 
d*une  hlancheur  ehouissante.  In  this  manufactory  of  a 
beauty  I remained  for  a quarter  of  an  hour  ; at  the  end 
of  that  time,  the  abigail  (the  Duchesse  had  the  grace  to 
disappear)  released  me,  and  I flew  down  srairs  like  a 
spirit  from  purgatory. 

From  that  moment  the  Duchesse  honored  me  with  her 
most  deadly  abhorrence.  Equally  silly  and  wicked,  her 
schemes  of  revenge  were  as  ludicrous  in  their  execution  as 
remorseless  in  their  design  : at  one  time  I narrowly  escaped 
poison  in  a cup  of  coffee  — at  another,  she  endeavored  to 
stab  me  to  the  heart  with  a paper  cutter. 

Notwithstanding  my  preservation  from  these  attacks, 
my  fair  enemy  had  resolved  on  my  destruction,  and  another 
means  of  attempting  it  still  remained,  which  the  reader 
will  yet  have  the  pleasure  of  learning. 

Mr.  Thornton  had  called  upon  me  twice,  and  twice  I 
had  returned  the  visit,  but  neither  of  us  had  been  at  home 
to  benefft  by  these  reciprocities  of  politeness.  His  ac- 
quaintance with  my  mysterious  hero  of  the  gambling-house 
and  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  and  the  keen  interest  I took, 
in  spite  of  myself,  in  that  unaccountable  person,  whom  I 
was  persuaded  I had  seen  before  in  some  very  different 
scene,'  and  under  very  different  circumstances,  made  me 
desirous  to  improve  an  acquaintance,  w^hich,  from  Yirjcent^s 
detail.  I should  otherwise  have  been  anxious  to  avoid.  I 
therefore  resolved  to  make  another  attempt  to  find  him 


148 


PELHAM;  OR, 


at  home  ; and  my  headache  being  somewhat  better,  T took 
my  way  to  his  apartments  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

I love  that  i^uariier ! — if  ever  I go  to  Paris  again  I 
shall  reside  there.  It  is  a different  world  from  the  streets 
usually  known  to,  and  tenanted  by  the  English  — there, 
indeed,  you  are  among  the  French,  the  fossilized  remains 
of  the  old  regime  — the  very  houses  have  an  air  of  desolate, 
yet  venerable  grandeur  — you  never  pass  by  the  white 
and  modern  mansion  of  a nouveau  riche  ; all,  even  to  the 
rugged  ness  of  the  pace,  breathes  a haughty  disdain  of 
innovation  — you  cross  one  of  the  numerous  bridges,  and 
you  enteri  nto  another  time  — you  are  inhaling  the  atmo- 
sphere of  a past  century  ; no  flaunting  boutique,  French  in 
its  trumpery,  English  in  its  prices,  stares  you  in  the  face  ; 
no  stiff  coats  and  unnatural  gaits  are  seen  anglicizing  up 
the  melancholy  streets.  Vast  hotels,  with  their  gloomy 
frontals,  and  magnificent  contempt  of  comfort : shops,  such 
as  shops  might  have  been  in  the  aristocratic  days  of  Louis 
Quatorze,  ere  British  contamination  made  them  insolent 
and  dear  ; public  edifices,  still  eloquent  of  the  superb  chari- 
ties of  le  gramd  monarque  — carriages  with  their  huge 
bodies  and  ample  decorations;  horses,  with  their  Norman 
dimensions  and  undocked  honors ; men,  on  whose  more 
high  though  not  less  courteous  demeanour,  the  Revolution 
seems  to  have  wrought  no  democratic  plebeanism  — all 
strike  on  the  mind  with  a vague  and  nameless  impression 
of  antiquity  ; a something  solemn  even  in  gaiety,  and  faded 
in  pomp,  appears  to  linger  over  all  you  behold  ; there  are 
the  Great  French  people  unadulterated  by  change,  unsui* 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  14V< 

lied  with  the  commerce  of  the  vagrant  and  various  tribes 
that  throng  their  mighty  mart  of  enjoyments. 

The  strangers  who  fill  the  quartiers  on  this  side  the 
Seine  pass  not  there  ; between  them  and  the  Faubourg 
there  is  a gulf;  the  very  skies  seem  dilferent  — your  own 
feelings,  thoughts  — nature  itself — alter,  when  you  have 
passed  that  Styx  which  divides  the  wanderers  from  the 
habitants  ; your  spirits  are  not  so  much  damped,  as  tinged, 
refined,  ennobled  by  a certain  inexpressible  awe  — you 
are  girt  with  the  stateliness  of  eld,  and  you  tread  the 
gloomy  streets  with  the  dignity  of  a man,  who  is  recalling 
the  splendors  of  an  ancient  court  where  he  once  did 
homage.* 

I arrived  at  Thornton’s  chambers  in  the  Rue  St.  Dom- 
inique. Monsieif'**,  ed-il  chez  lui  ? ” said  I to  the  ancient 
porteress,  who  was  reading  one  of  Crebillon’s  novels. 

Oui  Monsieur^  au  quatrieme,^’’  was  the  answer.  I 
turned  to  the  dark  and  unclean  stair-case,  and,  after 
incredible  exertion  and  fatigue,  arrived,  at  last,  at  the 
elevated  abode  of  Mr.  Thornton 

EntreZj'^^  cried  a voice,  in  answer  to  my  rap.  I obeyed 
the  signal,  and  found  myself  in  a room  of  tolerable  dimen- 
sions and  multiplied  utilities.  A decayed  silk  curtain  of  a 
dingy  blue,  drawn  across  a recess,  separated  the  chamhre 
a coucher  from  the  salon.  It  was  at  present  only  half 
drawn,  and  did  not,  therefore,  conceal  the  mysteries  of 
the  den  within  ; the  bed  was  still  unmade,  and  apparently 

* It  was  in  1827  that  this  was  first  published:  the  glory  (by  this 
time)  has  probably  left  the  Faubourg 

12* 


150 


PELHAM;  OR, 


of  no  very  inviting  cleanliness ; a red  handkerchief,  that 
served  as  a night-cap,  hung  pendent  from  the  foot  of  the 
bed  : at  a little  distance  from  it,  more  towards  the  pillow, 
were  a shawl,  a parasol,  and  an  old  slipper.  On  a table, 
which  stood  between  the  two  dull,  filmy  windows,  were 
placed  a cracked  bowl,  still  reeking  with  the  lees  of  gin- 
punch,  two  bottles  half  full,  a mouldy  cheese,  and  a salad 
dish  ; on  the  ground  beneath  the  table  lay  two  huge  books, 
and  a woman’s  bonnet. 

Thornton  himself  sat  by  a small  consumptive  fire,  in  an 
easy  chair  ; another  table,  still  spread  with  the  appliances 
of  breakfast,  viz.,  a cojffee-pot,  a milk-jug,  two  cups,  a 
broken  loaf,  and  an  empty  dish,  mingled  with  a pack  of 
cards,  one  dice,  and  an  open  book  de  mauvais  gout,  stood 
immediately  before  him. 

Every  thing  around  bore  some  testimony  of  low  de- 
bauchery ; and  the  man  himself,  with  his  flushed  and 
sensual  countenance,  his  unwashed  hands,  and  the  slovenly 
rakishness  of  his  whole  appearance,  made  no  unfitting 
representation  of  the  Genius^  loci. 

All  that  I have  described,  together  with  a flitting  shadow 
of  feminine  appearance,  escaping  through  another  door, 
my  quick  eye  discovered  in  the  same  instant  that  I ma^de 
my  salutation. 

Thornton  rose,  with  an  air  half-careless  and  half- 
abashed,  and  expressed,  in  more  appropriate  terms  than 
his  appearance  warranted,  his  pleasurable  surprise  at 
seeing  me  at  last.  There  was,  however,  a singularity  in 
his  conversation  which  gave  it  ah  air  both  of  shrewdnesj^ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  151 

Him  vulgarity.  This  was,  as  may  before  have  been  noted, 
a profuse  intermixture  of  proverbs,  some  stale,  some  new, 
some  sensible  enough,  and  all  savoring  of  a vocabulary 
carefully  eschewed  by  every  man  of  ordinary  refinement 
in  conversation. 

I have  but  a small  tenement,”  said  he,  smiling  ; but, 
thank  Heaven,  at  Paris  a man  is  not  made  by  his  lodgings. 
Small  house,  small  care.  Few  gargons  have  indeed  a 
more  sumptuous  apartment  than  myself.” 

“ True,”  said  I ; and  if  I may  judge  by  the  bottles  on 
the  opposite  table,  and  the  bonnet  beneath  it,  you  find 
that  no  abode  is  too  humble  or  too  exalted  for  the  solace 
of  the  senses.” 

’Fore  Gad,  you  are  in  the  right,  Mr.  Pelham,”  replied 
Thornton,  with  a loud,  coarse,  chuckling  laugh,  which, 
more  than  a year’s  conversation  could  have  done,  let  me 
into  the  secrets  of  his  character.  I care  not  a rush  for 
the  decorations  of  the  table,  so  that  the  cheer  be  good  ; 
nor  for  the  gewgaws  of  the  head-dress,  so  long  as  the  face  is 
pretty  — ' the  taste  of  the  kitchen  is  better  than  the  smell.’ 

Do  you  go  much  to  Madame  B ’s  in  the  Rue  Gretry 

— eh,  Mr.  Pelham  ? — ah,  I ’ll  be  bound  you  do.” 

^‘No,”  said  I,  with  a loud  laugh,  but  internal  shiver; 
*^but  you  know  where  to  find  le  bon  vin  et  les  jolies  Jilles. 
As  for  me,  I am  still  a stranger  in  Paris,  and  amuse 
myself  but  very  indifferently.” 

Thornton’s  face  brightened.  ‘‘  I tell  you  what,  my  good 
fellow  — — I beg  pardon  — I mean  Mr.  Pelham  — I cau 


!52 


PELHAM:  o n 


show  you  the  best  sport  in  the  world,  if  you  can  only  sparb 
me  a little  of  your  time — this  very  evening,  perhaps  ? 

“I  fear,’^  said  I,  “ I am  engaged  all  the  present  week  • 
but  I long  for  nothing  more  than  to  cultivate  an  acquaint- 
ance, seemingly  so  exactly  to  my  own  taste.'^^ 

Thornton’s  grey  eyes  twinkled.  Will  you  breakfast 
with  me  on  Saturday?”  said  he. 

“ I shall  be  too  happy,”  I replied. 

There  was  now  a short  pause.  I took  advantage  of  it. 

I think,”  said  I,  I have  seen  you  once  or  twice  with  a 
tall,  handsome  man,  in  a loose  great-coat  of  very  singular 
color.  Pray,  if  not  impertinent,  who  is  he  ? I am  sure 
I have  seen  him  before  in  England.” 

I looked  full  upon  Thornton  as  I said  this  ; he  changed 
color,  and  answered  my  gaze  with  a quick  glance  from  his 
small,  glittering  eye,  before  he  replied,  I scarcely  know 
who  you  mean,  my  acquaintance  is  so  large  and  miscel- 
laneous at  Paris.  It  might  have  been  Johnson,  or  Smith, 
or  Howard,  or  anybody,  in  short.” 

“It  is  a man  nearly  six  feet  high,”  said  I,  “thin,  and 
remarkably  well  made,  of  a pale  complexion,  light  eyes, 
and  very  black  hair,  mustachios  and  whiskers.  I saw  him 
with  you  once  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  once  in  a hell 
in  the  Palais  Boyal.  Surely,  now  you  will  recollect  who 
he  is?” 

Thornton  was  evidently  disconcerted.  “ Oh  ! ” said  he, 
after  a short  pause,  and  another  of  his  peculiarly  quick, 
sly  glances. — “ Oh,  that  man  ; I have  known  him  a very 
short  time.  What  is  his  name  ? — let  me  see  I ” and  Mr 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  15S 

Thornton  affected  to  look  down  in  a complete  reverie  of 
dim  remembrances. 

I saw,  however,  that,  from  time  to  time,  his  eye  glanced 
up  to  me,  with  a restless,  inquisitive  expression,  and  as 
instantly  retired. 

said  I,  carelessly,  think  I know  who  he  is  ! 

*^Who?’^  cried  Thornton,  eagerly,  and  utterly  off  his 
guard. 

‘‘And  yet,’’  I pursued,  without  noticing  the  interruption, 
“it  scarcely  can  be  — the  color  of  the  hair  is  so  very 
different.” 

Thornton  again  appeared  to  relapse  into  his  recollec. 
tions. 

“War  — Warbur  — ah,  I have  it  now!”  cried  he, 
“Warburton  — that’s  it  — that’s  the  name  — is  it  the  one 
you  supposed,  Mr.  Pelham  ?” 

“No,”  said  I,  apparently  perfectly  satisfied.  “I  was 
quite  mistaken.  Good  morning,  I did  not  think  it  was  so 
late.  On  Saturday,  then,  Mr.  Thoruton  — au  plaisir  ! 

“A  cunning  dog  ! ” said  I to  myself,  as  I left  the  apart- 
ments. “ However,  on  pent  etre  trop  fin,  I shall  have 
him  yet.” 

The  surest  way  to  make  a dupe,  is  to  let  your  victim 
suppose  you  are  his. 


154 


PELHAM;  OE, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Voila  de  I’^rudition.* — Les  Femmes  Savantes. 

1 FOUND,  on  my  return,  covered  with  blood,  and  foaming 
with  passion,  my  inestimable  valet  — Bedos  ! 

‘^What’s  the  matter?”  said  1. 

Matter  ! ” repeated  Bedos,  in  a tone  almost  inarticu- 
late with  rage  ; and  then,  rejoicing  at  the  opportunity  of 
unbosoming  his  wrath,  he  poured  out  a vast  volley  of 
ivrognes  and  corognes,  against  our  dame  du  chateau,  of 
monkey  reminiscence.  With  great  difficulty,  I gathered 
at  last,  from  his  vituperations,  that  the  enraged  landlady, 
determined  to  wreak  her  vengeance  on  some  one,  had  sent 
for  him  into  her  appartement,  accosted  him  with  a smile, 
bade  him  sit  down,  regaled  him  with  cold  vol-au-vent,  and 
a glass  of  Cura^oa,  and,  while  he  was  felicitating  himself 
on  his  good  fortune,  slipped  out  of  the  room  : presently, 
three  tall  fellows  entered  with  sticks. 

‘‘We’ll  teach  you,”  said  the  biggest  of  them — “we’ll 
teach  you  to  lock  up  ladies  for  the  indulgence  of  your 
vulgar  amusement ; ” and,  without  one  other  word,  they 
fell  upon  Bedos  with  incredible  zeal  and  vigor.  The  val- 
iant valet  defended  himself,  tooth  and  nail,  for  some  time, 
for  which  he  only  got  the  more  soundly  belabored.  In 


* There’s  erudition  for  you. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  155 

the  meanwhile  the  landlady  entered,  and,  with  the  same 
gentle  smile  as  before,  begged  him  to  make  no  ceremony, 
to  proceed  with  his  present  amusement,  and  when  he  was 
tired  with  the  exercise,  hoped  he  would  refresh  himself 
with  another  glass  of  Curacoa. 

It  was  this,^^  said  Bedos,  with  a whimper,  which  hurt 
me  the  most,  to  think  she  should  serve  me  so  cruelly,  aftei 
I had  eaten  so  plentifully  of  the  vol-au-vent ; envy  and 
injustice  I can  bear,  but  treachery  stabs  me  to  the  heart.’’ 

When  these  threshers  of  men  were  tired,  the  lady  sat- 
isfied, and  Bedos  half  dead,  they  suffered  the  unhappy 
valet  to  withdraw  ; the  mistress  of  the  hotel  giving  him 
a note,  which  she  desired,  with  great  civility,  that  he 
would  transmit  to  me  on  my  return.  This,  I found,  in- 
closed my  bill,  and  informed  me  that,  my  month  being  out 
on  the  morrow’,  she  had  promised  my  rooms  to  a particular 
friend,  and  begged  I w’ould,  therefore,  have  the  honte  to 
choose  another  apartment. 

Carry  my  luggage  forthwith,”  said  I,  to  the  Hotel 
de  Mirabeau  : ” and  that  very  evening  I changed  my  abode. 

I was  engaged  that  day  to  a literary  dinner  at  the  Mar- 
quis d’Al ; and  as  I knew  I should  meet  Vincent,  I 

felt  some  pleasure  in  repairing  to  my  entertainer’s  hotel. 
They  w^ere  just  going  to  dinner  as  I entered.  A good 
many  English  w’ere  of  the  party.  The  good-natured,  in 

all  senses  of  the  word.  Lady , wdio  always  affected  to 

pet  me,  cried  aloud,  “Pelham,  man  joli  petit  mignon,  I 
have  not  seen  you  for  an  age  — do  give  me  your  arm.” 

Madame  d’Anville  was  just  before  me,  and,  as  I looked 


156 


PELHAM;  OR, 


at  her,  I saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears ; my  heart 
smote  me  for  my  late  inattention,  and  going  up  to  her,  I 
only  nodded  to  Lady , and  said,  in  reply  to  her  invi- 

tation, Non,  perfide,  it  is  w.y  turn  to  be  cruel  now. 
llemember  your  flirtation  with  Mr.  Howard  de  Howard.’’ 

‘^Pooh  !”  said  Lady — — , taking  Lord  Vincent’s  arm, 
''your  jealousy  does  indeed  rest  upon  'a  trifle  light  as 
air.'>  ” 

" Do  you  forgive  me  ? ” whispered  I to  Madame  d’ 
Anville,  as  I handed  her  to  the  salle  d manger. 

" Does  not  love  forgive  everything  ? ” was  her  answer. 

"At  least,”  thought  I,  "it  never  talks  in  those  pretty 
phrases  ! ” 

The  conversation  soon  turned  upon  books.  As  for  me, 
I rarely  at  that  time  took  a share  in  those  discussions; 
indeed,  I have  long  laid  it  down  as  a rule,  that  when  your 
fame,  or  your,  notoriety,  is  once  established,  you  never 
gain  by  talking  to  more  than  one  person  at  a time.  If 
you  don’t  shine,  you  are  a fool  — if  you  do,  you  are  a 
bore.  You  must  become  either  ridiculous  or  unpopular 
— either  hurt  your  own  self-love  by  stupidity,  or  that  of 
others  by  wit.  I therefore  sat  in  silence,  looking  exceed- 
ingly edified,  and  now  and  then  muttering  “good  !”  "true  !’ 
Thank  heaven,  however,  the  suspension  of  one  faculty 
only  increases  the  vivacity  of  the  others ; my  eyes  and 
ears  always  watch  like  sentinels  over  the  repose  of  my 
lips.  Careless  and  indifferent  as  I seem  to  all  things, 
nothing  ever  escapes  me : I have  two  peculiarities  which 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  151 

serve  me,  it  may  be,  instead  of  talent ; I observe,  and  J 
remember. 

“You  have  seen  Jouy’s  ‘ Hermite  de  la  Chauss^e  d’ 
Antin?’’’  said  our  host  to  Lord  Yincent. 

“I  have,  and  think  meanly  of  it.  There  is  a perpetual 
aim  at  something  pointed,  which  as  perpetually  merges 
into  something  dull.  He  is  like  a bad  swimmer,  strikes 
out  with  great  force,  makes  a confounded  splash,  and  never 
gets  a yard  the  further  for  it.  It  is  a great  effort  not  to 

sink.  Indeed,  Monsieur  d’A , your  literature  is  at  a 

very  reduced  ebb;  — bombastic  in  the  drama  — shallow 
in  philosophy  — mawkish  in  poetry,  your  writers  in  the 
present  day  seem  to  think,  with  Boileau  — 

‘ Souvent  de  tous  nos  maux  la  raison  est  le  pire.’  ” * 

“ Surely,’’ cried  Madame  d’Anville,  “you  will  allow  De 
la  Martine’s  poetry  to  be  beautiful  ? ” 

“ I allow  it,”  said  he,  “ to  be  among  the  best  you  have  ; 
and  I know  very  few  lines  in  your  language  equal  to  the 
two  first  stanzas  in  his  ^Meditation  on  Napoleon,’  or  to 
those  exquisite  verses  called  'Le  lac but  you  will  allow 
also,  that  he  wants  originality  and  nerve.  His  thoughts 
are  pathetic,  but  not  deep  ; he  whines,  but  sheds  no  tears. 
He  has,  in  his  imitation  of  Lord  Byron,  reversed  the  great 
miracle  ; instead  of  turning  water  into  wine,  he  has  turned 
wine  into  water.  Besides,  he  is  so  unpardonably  obscure. 

He  thinks,  with  Bacchus — (you  remember,  D’A , the 

line  in  Euripides,  which  I will  not  quote),  that  Hhere  is 

* Often  of  all  our  ills  the  worst  is  reason. 

I.—  1 i 


158 


P E L II  A ; O 11 , 


something  august  in  the  shades  ; ' but  he  has  applied  this 
thought  wrongly — in  his  obscurity  there  is  nothing  sublime 

— it  is  the  back-ground  of  a Dutch  picture.  It  is  only  a 
red  herring,  or  an  old  hat,  which  he  has  invested  with 
such  pomposity  of  shadow  and  darkness.” 

‘^But  his  verses  are  so  smooth,”  said  Lady . 

**Ah  ! ” answered  Vincent. 

* Quand  la  rime  enfin  se  trouve  au  bout  des  vers, 

Qu’  importe  que  le  reste  y soil  mis  de  travers?*  ” * 

HelasP^  said  the  Viscount  d’A — , an  author  of  no 
small  celebrity  himself;  “I  agree  with  you  — we  shall 
never  again  see  a Voltaire  or  a Rousseau.” 

There  is  but  little  justice  in  those  complaints,  often 
as  they  are  made,”  replied  Vincent.  '‘You  may  not,  it 
is  true,  see  a Voltaire  or  a Rousseau,  but  you  will  see 
their  equals.  Genius  can  never  be  exhausted  by  one 
individual.  In  our  country,  the  poets  after  Chaucer  in 
the  fifteenth  century  complained  of  the  decay  of  their  art 

— they  did  not  anticipate  Shakspeare.  In  Hayley’s  time, 
who  ever  dreamt  of  the  ascension  of  Byron  ? Yet  Shak- 
speare and  Byron  came  like  the  bridegroom  ‘in  the  dead 
of  night ; ’ and  you  have  the  same  probability  of  producing 
— not,  indeed,  another  Rousseau,  but  a writer  to  do  equal 
honor  to  your  literature.” 

“ I think,”  said  Lady , “ that  Rousseau’s  ‘ J ulie  ’ is 

over-rated.  I had  heard  so  much  of  ‘La  Xouvelle  Ile- 
loise  ’ when  I was  a girl,  and  been  so  often  told  that  it 

* No  matter  what  the  stuff,  if  good  the  rhyme  — 

The  rubble  stands  cemented  with  the  lime. — Paraphrabj. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  159 

was  destruction  to  read  it,  that  I bought  the  book  the 
very  day  after  I was  married.  I own  to  you  that  I could 
uot  get  through  it.’’ 

'‘I  am  not  surprised  at  it,”  answered  Vincent;  but 
Rousseau  is  not  the  less  a genius  for  all  that.  There  is 
no  plot  in  his  novel  to  bear  out  the  style,  and  he  himself 
is  right  when  he  says,  ^ this  book  will  suit  few  readers.’ 
One  letter  would  delight  every  one — four  volumes  of  them 
are  a surfeit  — it  is  the  toujours  perdrix.  But  the  chief 
beauty  of  that  wonderful  conception  of  an  impassioned 
and  meditative  mind  is  to  be  found  in  the  inimitable  man- 
ner in  which  the  thoughts  are  embodied,  and  in  the  ten- 
derness, the  truth,  the  profundity  of  the  thoughts  them- 
selves. When  Lord  Ecjouard  says,  ^ c^est  le  chemin  des 
passions  qui  Trda  conduit  d la philosophiej^^  he  inculcates, 
in  one  simple  phrase,  a profound  and  unanswerable  truth. 
It  is  in  these  remarks  that  nature  is  chiefly  found  in  the 
writings  of  Rousseau.  Too  much  engrossed  in  himself 
to  be  deeply  skilled  in  the  characters  of  others,  that  very 
self-study  had  yet  given  him  a knowledge  of  the  more 
hidden  recesses  of  the  heart.  He  could  perceive  at  once 
the  motive  and  the  cause  of  actions,  but  he  wanted  the 
patience  to  trace  the  elaborate  and  winding  progress  of 
their  effects.  He  saw  the  passions  in  their  home,  but  he 
could  not  follow  them  abroad.  He  knew  mankind  in  the 
general,  but  not  men  in  the  detail.  Thus,  when  he  makes 
an  aphorism,  or  reflection,  it  comes  home  at  once  to  }ou 

* It  is  the  path  of  the  passions  which  has  conducted  me  to  phh 
losophy. 


-160 


PELHAM;  OR, 


as  true  ; but  when  he  would  analyze  that  reflection  — 
when  he  argues,  reasons,  and  attempts  to  prove,  you  reject 
him  as  unnatural,  or  you  refute  him  as  false.  It  is  then 
that  he  partakes  of  that  manie  commune  which  he  imputes 
to  other  philosophers,  ‘ de  nier  ce  qui  est,  et  d’expliquej* 
ce  qui  n^est  pas.  ^ ’’  * 

There  was  a short  pause.  “I  think,”  said  Madame 
d’Anville,  that  it  is  in  those  reflections  which  you  admire 
so  much  in  Rousseau,  that  our  authors  in  general  excel.” 

You  are  right,”  said  Yincent,  and  for  this  reason — 
with  you,  men  of  letters  are  nearly  always  men  of  the 
world.  Hence  their  quick  perceptions  are  devoted  to 
human  beings  as  well  as  to  books.  They  make  observa- 
tions acutely,  and  embody  then^  with  grace  ; but  it  is 
worth  remarking,  that  the  same  cause  which  produced  the 
aphorism,  frequently  prevents  its  being  profound.  These 
literary  gens  du  mode  have  the  tact  to  observe,  but  not 
the  patience,  perhaps  not  the  time,  to  investigate.  They 
make  the  maxim,  but  they  never  explain  to  you  the  train 
of  reasoning  which  led  to  it.  Hence  they  are  more  bril- 
liant than  true.  An  English  writer  will  seldom  dare  to 
make  a maxim,  involving,  perhaps,  in  two  lines,  one  of 
the  most  important  of  moral  problems,  without  bringing 
pages  to  support  his  dictum.  A French  essayist  leaves 
it  wholly  to  itself.  He  tells  you  neither  how  he  came  by 
his  reasons,  nor  their  conclusion;  ^ le  plus  fou  souvent 
est  le  plus  satisfaiU  "f  Consequently,  if  less  tedious  thau 


* To  deny  that  which  is,  and  explain  that  which  is  not. 
I He  who  has  the  least  sense  is  the  most  satisfied. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  161 

the  English,  your  reasoners  are  more  dangerous,  and  ought 
rather  to  be  considered  as  models  of  terseness  than  of  re- 
flection A man  might  learn  to  think  sooner  from  your 
writers,  but  he  will  learn  to  think  justly  sooner  from  ours.  ' 
Many  observations  of  La  Bruyere  and  Kochefoucault  — 
the  latter  especially— have  obtained  credit  for  truth  solely 
from  their  point.  They  possess  exactly  the  same  merit  as 
the  very  sensible  — permit  me  to  add  — very  French  line 
in  Corneille : — 

‘Ma  plus  douce  esperance  est  de  perdre  I’espoir.’  ” * 

The  marquis  took  advantage  of  the  silence  which  fol- 
lowed Vincent’s  criticism,  to  rise  from  table.  We  all 
(except  Vincent,  who  took  leave)  adjourned  to  the  salon. 

Qui  est  cet  homme  laV^  said  one,  coninie  il  est  epris 
de  tui-mewe P'  “ How  silly  he  is,”  cried  another — Row 
said  a third.  “What  a taste  in  literature  — such 
a talker  — such  shallowness,  and  such  assurance  — not 
worth  the  answering  — could  not  slip  in  a word — disa- 
greeable, revolting,  awkward,  slovenly,”  were  the  most 
complimentary  opinions  bestowed  upon  the  unfortunate 
Vincent.  The  old  railed  at  his  mauvais  gout,  and  the 
young  at  his  mauvais  cceur,  for  the  former  always  attribute 
whatever  does  not  correspond  with  their  sentiments,  to  a 
perversion  of  taste  ; and  the  latter,  whatever  does  not 
come  up  to  their  enthusiasm,  to  a depravity  of  heart. 

As  for  me,  I went  home,  enriched  with  two  new  obser^ 


* My  sweetest  hoping  is  to  forfeit  hope. 


14* 


L 


162 


P E L HA  M ; OR 


rations  ; first,  that  one  may  not  speak  of  anything  relatire 
to  a foreign  country,  as  one  would  if  one  were  a native. 
National  censures  become  particular  affronts.  Secondly, 
that  those  who  know  mankind  in  theory,  seldom  know  it 
in  practice  ; the  very  wisdom  that  conceives  a rule,  is 
accompanied  with  the  abstraction,  or  the  vanity,  which 
destroys  it.  I mean,  that  the  philosopher  of  the  cabinet 
is  often  too  diffident  to  put  into  action  his  observations, 
or  too  eager  for  display  to  conceal  their  design.  Lord 
Vincent  values  himself  upon  his  science  du  monde.  He 
has  read  much  upon  men,  he  has  reflected  more  ; he  lays 
down  aphorisms  to  govern  or  to  please  them.  He  goes 
into  society;  he  is  cheated  by  the  one  half,  and  the  other 
half  he  offends.  The  sage  in  the  cabinet  is  but  a fool  in 
the  salon;  and  the  most  consummate  men  of  ther world 
are  those  who  have  considered  the  least  on  it. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


163 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Falstaff. — What  money  is  in  my  purse? 

Page. — Seven  groats  and  two-pence. — Second  Part  of  Henry  IV. 
En  iterum  Crispiuus! 

The  next  day  a note  was  brought  me  which  had  been 
«ent  to  my  former  lodgings  in  the  Hotel  de  Paris  ; it  w^as 
from  Thornton. 

^‘My  DEAR  Sir/^  (it  began) 

I am  very  sorry  that  particular  business  will  prevent 
me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  my  rooms  on  Saturday. 
I hope  to  be  more  fortunate  some  other  day.  I should 
be  glad  to  introduce  you,  the  first  opportunity,  to  my 
friends  in  the  Hue  Gretry^  for  I like  obliging  my  country- 
men. I am  sure,  if  you  were  to  go  there,  you  would  cut 
and  come  again  — one  shoulder  of  mutton  drives  down 
another. 

1 beg  you  to  accept  my  repeated  excuses,  and  remain, 

Dear  Sir, 

Your  very  obedient  servant, 
Thomas  Thornton. 

‘‘Rue  St  Dominique, 

Friday  Morning.” 

This  letter  produced  in  me  many  and  manifold  cogita- 
tions. What  could  possibly  have  induced  Mr.  Tom 


164 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Thornton,  ro<]^ue  as  he  was,  to  postpone  thus  of  his  own 
accord,  the  plucking  of  a pigeon,  which  he  had  such  good 
reason  to  believe  he  had  entrapped  ? There  was  evi- 
dently no  longer  the  same  avidity  to  cultivate  rny  acquaint- 
ance as  before  ; in  putting  off  our  appointment  with  so 
little  ceremony,  he  did  not  even  fix  a day  for  another 
meeting.  What  had  altered  his  original  designs  tow^ards 
me  ? for  if  Vincent’s  account  were  true,  it  was  natural  to 
suppose  that  he  wished  to  profit  by  any  acquaintance  he 
might  form  with  me,  and  therefore  such  an  acquaintance 
his  own  interests  would  induce  him  to  continue  and  confirm. 

Either,  then,  he  no  longer  had  the  same  necessity  for 
a dupe,  or  he  no  longer  imagined  I should  become  one. 
Yet  neither  of  these  suppositions  was  probable.  It  was 
not  likely  that  he  should  grow  suddenly  honest,  or  suddeidy 
rich  : nor  had  I,  on  the  other  hand,  given  him  any  reason 
to  suppose  I was  a jot  more  wary  than  any  other  individual 
he  might  have  imposed  upon.  On  the  contrary,  I had 
appeared  to  seek  his  acquaintance  with  an  eagerness 
which  said  but  little  for  my  knowledge  of  the  world.  The 
more  I reflected,  the  more  I should  have  been  puzzled, 
had  I not  connected  his  present  backwardness  with  his 
acquaintance  with  the  stranger,  wdiom  he  termed  Warbur- 
ton.  It  is  true,  that  I had  no  reason  to  suppose  so  ; it 
was  a conjecture  w^holly  unsupported,  and,  indeed,  against 
my  better  sense  ; yet,  from  some  unanalyzed  associations, 
I could  not  divest  myself  of  the  supposition. 

‘‘  I will  soon  see,”  thought  I ; and,  w'rapping  myself  in 
my  cloak,  for  the  day  was  bitterly  cold,  I bent  my  way  to 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


16& 


Thornton’s  lodgings.  I could  not  explain  to  myself  the 
deep  interest  I took  in  whatever  was  connected  with  (the 
so-called)  Warburton,  or  whatever  promised  to  discover 
more  clearly  any  particulars  respecting  him.  His  behavior 
in  the  gambling-house  ; his  conversation  with  the  woman 
in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes ; and  the  singular  circumstance, 
that  a man  of  so  very  aristocratic  an  appearance  should 
be  connected  with  Thornton,  and  only  seen  in  such  low 
scenes,  and  with  such  low  society,  would  not  have  been 
sufficient  so  strongly  to  occupy  my  mind,  had  it  not  been 
for  certain  dim  recollections,  and  undefinable  associations, 
that  his  appearance  when  present,  and  my  thoughts  of 
him  when  absent,  perpetually  recalled. 

As,  engrossed  with  meditations  of  this  nature,  I was 
passing  over  the  Point  Neuf^  I perceived  the  man  whom 
Warburton  had  so  earnestly  watched  in  the  gambling- 
house,  and  whom  my  coiijectures  identified  with  the  Tyr- 
rell,” who  had  formed  the  subject  of  conversation  in  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  pass  slowly  before  me.  There  was 
an  appearance  of  great  exhaustion  in  his  swarthy  and 
strongly-marked  countenance.  He  walked  carelessly  on, 
neither  looking  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  with  that  air  of 
thought  and  abstraction  common  to  all  men  in  the  habit 
of  indulging  any  engrossing  and  exciting  passion. 

We  were  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine,  when  I 
perceived  the  woman  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  approach. 
Tyrrell  (for  that,  I afterwards  discovered,  was  really  his 
name)  started  as  she  came  near,  and  asked  her  in  a tone 
of  some  asperity,  where  she  had  been  ? As  I was  but  a 


166 


PELHAM;  OR, 


fow  paces  behind,  I had  a clear,  full  view  of  the  woman’s 
countenance.  She  was  about  twenty-ei^ht  or  thirty  years 
of  age.  Her  features  were  decidedly  handsome,  though 
somewhat  too  sharp  and  aquiline.  Her  eyes  were  light 
and  rather  sunken  ; and  her  complexion  bespoke  somewhat 
of  the  paleness  and  languor  of  ill-health.  On  the  whole, 
the  expression  of  her  face,  though  decided,  was  not  un- 
pleasing, and  when  she  returned  Tyrrell’s  rather  rude 
salutation,  it  was  with  a smile,  which  made  her,  for  the 
moment,  absolutely  beautiful. 

Where  have  I been  to  she  said,  in  answer  to  his 
interrogatory  ; Why,  I went  to  look  at  the  New  Church, 
which  they  told  me  was  so  s^iperhe.'^^ 

Methinks,”  replied  the  man,  *Uhat  ours  are  not  pre- 
cisely the  circumstances  in  which  such  spectacles  are 
amusing.” 

“Nay,  Tyrrell,”  said  the  woman,  as,  taking  his  arm, 
they  walked  on  together  a few  paces  before  me,  “nay, 
we  are  quite  rich  now  to  what  we  have  been  ; and,  if  you 
do  play  again,  our  two  hundred  pounds  may  swell  into  a 
fortune.  Your  losses  have  brought  you  skill,  and  you 
may  now  turn  them  into  actual  advantages.” 

Tyrrell  did  not  reply  exactly  to  these  remarks,  but 
appeared  as  if  debating  with  himself.  “Two  hundred 
pounds  — twenty  already  gone  I — in  a few  months,  all  will 
have  melted  away.  What  is  it  then  now  but  a respite  from 
starvation  ? — but  with  luck  it  may  become  a competence.” 

“And  why  not  have  luck?  many  a fortune  has  been 
made  with  a worse  beginning,”  said  the  woman. 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN.  IG*! 

“ True,  Margaret,’’  pursued  the  gambler,  “ and  even 
without  luck,  our  fate  can  only  commence  a month  or 
two  sooner — better  a short  doom  than  a lingering  torture.” 

“ What  think  you  of  trying  some  new  game  where  you 
have  more  experience,  or  where  the  chances  are  greater 
than  in  that  of  rouge  et  noir  ? ” asked  the  woman. 

Could  you  not  make  something  out  of  that  tall,  handsome 
man,  who,  Thornton  says,  is  so  rich  ? ” 

^^Ah,  if  one  could  I ” sighed  Tyrrell,  wistfully.  Thorn- 
ton tells  me,  that  he  has  won  thousands  from  him,  and 
that  they  are  mere  drops  in  his  income.  Thornton  is  a 
good,  easy,  careless  fellow,  and  might  let  me  into  a share  of 
the  booty  ; but  then,  in  what  games  can  I engage  him  ? ” 
Here  I passed  this  well-suited  pair,  and  lost  the  re- 
mainder of  their  conversation.  “Well,”  thought  I,  “if  this 
precious  personage  does  starve  at  last,  he  will  most  richly 
deserve  it,  partly  for  his  designs  on  the  stranger,  principally 
for  his  opinion  of  Thornton.  If  he  were  a knave  only,  one 
might  pity  him  ; but  a knave  and  fool  both,  are  a combi- 
nation of  evil,  for  which  there  is  no  intermediate  purgatory 
of  opinion  — nothing  short  of  utter  damnation.” 

I soon  arrived  at  Mr.  Thornton’s  abode.  The  same  old 
woman,  poring  over  the  same  novel  of  Crebillon,  made 
me  the  same  reply  as  before;  and  accordingly  again  I 
ascended  the  obscure  and  rugged  stairs,  which  seemed 
to  indicate,  that  the  road  to  vice  is  not  so  easy  as  one 
generally  supposes.  I knocked  at  the  door,  and,  receiving 
no  answering  acknowledgment,  opened  it  at  once.  The 
first  thing  I saw  was  the  dark,  rough  coat  of  Warburton  ; 


168 


PELHAM;  OR, 


that  person’s  back  was  turned  to  me,  and  he  was  talking 
with  some  energy  to  Thornton  (who  lounged  idly  in  a 
chair,  with  one  ungartered  leg  thrown  over  the  elbow^). 

*‘Ah,  Mr.  Pelham,”  exclaimed  the  latter,  starting  from 
his  not  very  graceful  position,  ‘Mt  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  see  you  — Mr.  Warburton,  Mr.  Pelham  — Mr.  Pelham, 
jMr.  Warburton.” 

My  new-made  and  mysterious  acquaintance  drew  himself 
up  to  his  full  height,  and  bowmd  very  slightly  to  my  own 
acknowdedgment  of  the  introduction.  A low  person 
would  have  thought  him  rude.  I only  supposed  him 
ignorant  of  the  world.  No  man  of  the  world  is  uncivil. 
He  turned  round,  after  this  stiff  condescension,  and  sank 
down  on  the  sofa,  with  his  back  towards  me. 

“ I was  mistaken,”  thought  I,  “ when  I believed  him  to 
be  above  such  associates  as  Thornton  — they  are  well 
matched.” 

“My  dear  sir,”  said  Thornton,  “I  am  very  sorry  I 
could  not  see  you  to  breakfast  — a particular  engagement 
prevented  me  — verhum  sap.  Mr.  Pelham,  you  take  me, 
I suppose  — black  eyes,  w^hite  skin,  and  such  an  ankle!” 
and  the  fellow  rubbed  his  great  hands  and  chuckled. 

“Well,”  said  I,  “1  cannot  blame  you,  whatever  may 
be  my  loss  — a dark  eye  and  a straight  ankle  are  powerful 
excuses.  What  says  Mr.  Warburton  to  them?”  and  I 
turned  to  the  object  of  my  interrogatory. 

“ Really,”  he  answered  drily,  (but  in  a voice  that  struck 
me  as  feigned  and  artificial,)  and  without  moving  from 
his  uncourteous  position,  “ Mr.  Thornton  only  can  judge 


adventures  of  a gentleman.  1G9 


of  the  niceties  of  his  peculiar  tastes,  or  the  justice  of  hi& 
general  excuses.’’ 

Mr.  Warburton  said  this  in  a sarcastic  bitter  tone. 
Thornton  bit  his  lips,  more,  I should  think,  at  the  manner 
than  the  words,  and  his  small  grey  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
malignant  and  stern  expression,  which  suited  the  chaiacter 
of  his  face  far  better  than  the  careless  levity  which  his 
glances  usually  denoted. 

They  are  no  such  great  friends  after  all,”  thought  I ; 
and  let  me  change  my  attack.  Pray,”  I asked,  “ among 
all  your  numerous  acquaintances  at  Paris,  did  you  ever 
meet  with  a Mr.  Tyrrell  ?” 

Warburton  started  from  his  chair,  and  as  instantly  re- 
seated himself.  Thornton  eyed  me  with  one  of  those 
peculiar  looks  which  so  strongly  reminded  me  of  a dog, 
in  deliberation  whether  to  bite  or  run  away. 

I do  know  a Mr.  Tyrrell ! ” he  said,  after  a short 
pause. 

What  sort  of  a person  is  he  ? ” I asked,  with  an  indif- 
ferent air — “a  great  gamester,  is  he  not?” 

He  does  slap  it  dowm  on  the  colors  now  and  then,” 
replied  Thornton.  I hope  you  don’t  know  him,  Mr 
Pelham  ! ” 

“ Why  ? ” said  I,  evading  the  question.  His  charactei 
is  not  affected  by  a propensity  so  common,  unless,  indeed, 
you  suppose  him  to  be  more  a gambler  than  a gamester, 
viz.,  more  acute  than  unlucky.” 

Heaven  forbid  that  I should  say  any  such  thing,” 
I.  — 15 


ItO  PELHAM;  OR, 

replied  Thornton;  *^you  won’t  catch  an  old  lawyer  in 
such  imprudence.” 

The  greater  the  truth,  the  greater  the  libel,”  said 
Warburton,  with  a sneer. 

^‘No,”  resumed  Thornton,  know  nothing  against 
Mr.  Tyrrell  — nothing!  He  may  he  a very  good  man, 
and  I believe  he  is  ; but  as  a friend,  Mr.  Pelham,  (and 
Mr.  Thornton  grew  quite  affectionate),  I advise  you  to 
have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with  that  sort  of  i^eo'ple.'^^ 
Truly,”  said  I,  “you  have  now  excited  my  curiosity. 
Nothing,  you  know,  is  half  so  inviting  as  mystery.” 

Thornton  looked  as  if  he  had  expected  a very  different 
reply;  and  Warburton  said,  in  an  abrupt  tone  — 

“ Whoever  enters  an  unknown  road  in  a fog  may  easily 
lose  himself.” 

“ True,”  said  I ; “ but  that  very  chance  is  more  agreeable 
than  a road  where  one  knows  every  tree  1 Danger  and 
novelty  are  more  to  my  taste  than  safety  and  sameness. 
Besides,  as  I rarely  gamble  myself,  I can  lose  little  by  an 
acquaintance  with  those  who  do.” 

Another  pause  ensued  — and,  finding  I had  got  all 
from  Mr.  Thornton  and  his  uncourteous  guest  that  I was 
likely  to  do,  I took  my  hat  and  my  departure. 

“I  do  not  know,”  thought  I,  “whether  I have  profited 
much  by  this  visit.  Let  me  consider.  In  the  first  place, 
I have  not  ascertained  why  I was  put  off  by  Mr.  Thornton 
i — for  as  to  his  excuse,  it  could  only  have  availed  one  day, 
and  had  he  been  anxious  for  my  acquaintance,  he  would 
have  named  another.  I have,  however,  discovered,  first. 


. ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  171 

that  he  does  not  wish  me  to  form  any  connection  with 
Tyrrell;  secondly,  from  Warburton’s  sarcasm,  and  his 
glance  of  reply,  that  there  is  but  little  friendship  between 
those  two,  whatever  be  the  intimacy  ; and,  thirdly,  that 
Warburton,  from  his  dorsal  positions,  so  studiously  pre- 
served, either  wished  to  be  uncivil  or  unnoticed.”  The 
latter,  after  all,  was  the  most  probable  supposition  ; and, 
upon  the  whole,  I felt  more  than  ever  convinced  that  he 
was  the  person  I suspected  him  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

Tell  how  the  fates  my  giddy  course  did  guide, 

The  inconstant  turns  of  every  changing  hour. 

Pierce  Gaveston^  by  M.  Drayton 

Je  me  retire  done. — Adieu,  Paris,  adieu!  — Boileau. 

When  I returned  home,  I found  on  my  table  the 
following  letter  from  my  mother : — 

My  DEAR  Henry, 

I am  rejoiced  to  hear  you  are  so  well  entertained  at 

Paris  — that  you  have  been  so  often  to  the  D s and 

C s;  that  Coulon  says  you  are  his  best  pupil  — that 

your  favorite  horse  is  so  much  admired  — and  that  you 
have  only  exceeded  your  allowance  by  £1,000.  With  some 
difficulty  I have  persuaded  your  uncle  to  transmit  you 
an  order  for  1,500/.,  which  will,  I trust,  make  up  all  your 
deficiencies. 


172 


PELHAM;  OR 


You  must  not,  my  dear  child,  be  so  extravagant  for 
the  future,  and  for  a very  good  reason,  viz.,  I do  not  see 
how  you  can.  Your  uncle,  I fear,  will  not  again  be  so 
generous,  and  your  father  cannot  assist  you.  You  will 
therefore  see  more  clearly  than  ever  the  necessity  of 
marrying  an  heiress  : there  are  only  two  in  England  (the 
daughters  of  gentlemen)  worthy  of  you  — the  most  de- 
serving of  these  has  10,000Z.  a year,  the  other  has  100,000Z. 
The  former  is  old,  ugly,  and  very  ill-tempered  ; the  latter 
tolerably  pretty,  and  agreeable,  and  just  of  age  ; but  you 
will  perceive  the  impropriety  of  even  thinking  of  her  till 
we  have  tried  the  other.  I am  going  to  ask  both  to  my 
Sunday  soirees^  where  I never  admit  any  single  men,  so 
that  there,  at  least,  you  will  have  no  rivals. 

‘‘And  now,  my  dear  son,  before  I enter  into  a subject 
of  great  importance  to  you,  I wish  to  recall  to  your  mind 
that  pleasure  is  never  an  end,  but  a means  — viz.,  that  in 
your  horses  and  amusements  at  Paris  — your  visits  anu 
your  liaisons  — you  have  always,  I trust,  remembered  that 
these  were  only  so  far  desirable  as  the  methods  of  shining 
in  society.  1 have  now  a new  scene  on  which  you  are  to 
enter,  with  very  different  objects  in  view,  and  where  any 
pleasures  you  may  find  have  nothing  the  least  in  common 
with  those  you  at  present  enjoy. 

“ I know  that  this  preface  will  not  frighten  you,  as  it 
might  many  silly  young  men.  Your  education  has  been 
too  carefully  attended  to,  for  you  to  imagine  that  any  step 
can  be  rough  or  unpleasant  which  raises  you  in  the  world. 

“ To  come  at  once  to  the  point.  One  of  the  seats  in 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 

your  uncle’s  borough  of  Buyemall  is  every  day  expected 
to  be  vacated  ; the  present  member,  Mr.  Toolington,  can- 
not possibly  live  a week,  and  your  uncle  is  very  desirous 
that  you  should  fill  the  vacancy  which  Mr.  Toolington’s 
death  will  create.  Though  I called  it  Lord  Glenmorris’s 
borough,  yet  it  is  not  entirely  at  his  disposal,  which  I 
think  very  strange,  since  my  father,  who  was  not  half  so 
rich  as  your  uncle,  could  send  two  members  to  Parliament 
without  the  least  trouble  in  the  world  — but  I don’t  un- 
derstand these  matters.  Possibly  your  uncle  (poor  man) 
does  not  manage  them  well.  However,  he  says  no  time  is  to 
be  lost.  You  are  to  return  immediately  to  England,  and 

3ome  down  to  his  house  in shire.  It  is  supposed  you  will 

aave  some  contest,  but  be  certain  eventually  to  come  in. 

“You  will  also,  in  this  visit  to  Lord  Glenmorris,  have 
an  excellent  opportunity  of  securing  his  affection  ; you 
know  it  is  some  time  since  he  saw  you,  and  the  greater 
part  of  his  property  is  unentailed.  If  you  come  into  the 
House,  you  must  devote  yourself  wholly  to  it,  and  I have 
no  fear  of  your  succeeding  ; for  I remember,  when  you 
were  quite  a child,  how  well  you  spoke  ‘ My  name  is 
Norval,’  and  ‘Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers,’  &c.  I 
heard  Mr.  Canning  speak  the  other  day,  and  I think  his 
voice  is  quite  like  yours.  In  short,  I make  no  doubt  of 
seeing  you  in  the  ministry  in  a very  few  years. 

“You  see,  my  dear  son,  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  you 

should  set  out  immediately.  You  will  call  on  Lady , 

and  you  will  endeavor  to  make  firm  friends  of  the  most 
desirable  among  your  present  acquaintance  ; so  that  you 
40* 


174 


PELHAM;  OR 


may  be  on  the  same  footing  you  are  now,  should  you  return 
to  Paris.  This  a little  civility  will  easily  do  ; nobody  (aa 
I before  observed),  except  in  England,  ever  loses  by  po- 
liteness ; — by-the-by,  that  last  word  is  one  you  must 
never  use  — it  is  too  Gloucester-place  like. 

You  will  also  be  careful,  in  returning  to  England,  to 
make  very  little  use  of  French  phrases ; no  vulgarity  is 
more  unpleasing.  I could  not  help  being  exceedingly 
amused  by  a book  written  the  other  day,  which  professes 
to  give  an  accurate  description  of  good  society.  Not 
knowing  what  to  make  us  say  in  English,  the  author  has 
made  us  talk  nothing  but  French.  I have  often  wondered 
vliat  common  people  think  of  us,  since  in  their  novels 
they  always  affect  to  portray  us  so  different  from  them- 
selves. I am  very  much  afraid  we  are  in  all  things  exactly 
like  them,  except  in  being  more  simple  and  unaffected. 
The  higher  the  rank,  indeed,  the  less  pretence,  because 
there  is  less  to  pretend  to.  This  is  the  chief  reason  why 
our  manners  are  better  than  low  persons : ours  are  more 
natural,  because  they  imitate  no  one  else;  theirs  are  affected, 
because  they  think  to  imitate  ours  ; and  whatever  is  evi- 
dently borrowed  becomes  vulgar.  Original  affectation  is 
sometimes  good  ton, — imitated  affectation,  always  bad. 

Well,  my  dear  Henry,  I must  now  conclude  this  letter, 
already  too  long  to  be  interesting.  I hope  to  see  you 
about  ten  days  after  you  receive  this  ; and  if  you  car.  bring 
me  a Cachemire  shawl,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to 
see  your  taste  in  its  choice.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  son 
‘^Your  very  affectionate, 

''Frances  Pelham.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


175 


**  P.  S.  I hope  you  go  to  church  sometimes  : I am  sorry 
.o  see  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  so  irreligious  ; it 
is  very  bad  taste  ! Perhaps  you  could  get  my  old  friend, 

Madame  do , to  choose  the  Cachemire  ; — take  care 

of  your  health.^’ 

This  letter,  which  I read  carefully  twice  over,  threw  me 
into  a most  serious  meditation.  My  first  feeling  was  regret 
at  leaving  Paris ; my  second,  was  a certain  exultation  at 
the  new  prospects  so  unexpectedly  opened  to  me.  The 
great  aim  of  a philosopher  is,  to  reconcile  every  disadvan- 
tage by  some  counterbalance  of  good ; where  he  cannot 
create  this,  he  should  imagine  it.  I began,  therefore,  to 
consider  less  what  I should  lose  than  what  I should  gain, 
by  quitting  Paris.  In  the  first  place,  I was  tolerably  tired 
of  its.  amusements  ; no  business  is  half  so  fatiguing  as 
pleasure.  I longed  for  a change  : behold,  a change  was 
at  hand  ! Then,  to  say  truth,  I was  heartily  glad  of  a 
pretence  for  escaping  from  a numerous  cohort  of  folles 
amours^  with  Madame  d’Anville  at  the  head  ; and  the 
very  circumstance  which  men  who  play  the  German  flute 
and  fall  in  love  would  have  considered  the  most  vexatious, 
I regarded  as  the  most  consolatory. 

My  mind  being  thus  relieved  from  its  primary  regret  at 
my  departure,  I now  suffered  it  to  look  forward  to  the 
advantages  of  my  return  to  England.  My  love  of  excite- 
ment and  variety  made  an  election,  in  which  I was  to  have 
both  the  importance  of  the  contest  and  the  certainty  of 
ine  success,  a very  agreeable  object  of  anticipation. 


176 


PELHAM;  OR, 


I was  also  by  this  time  wearied  with  my  attendance 
npon  women,  and  eager  to  exchange  it  for  the  ordinary 
objects  of  ambition  to  men  : and  my  vanity  whispered  that 
my  success  in  the  one  was  no  unfavorable  omen  of  my 
prosperity  in  the  other.  On  my  return  to  England,  with  a 
new  scene  and  a new  motive  for  conduct,  I resolved  that 
I would  commence  a different  character  from  that  I had 
hitherto  assumed.  How  far  I kept  this  resolution  the 
various  events  hereafter  to  be  shown  will  testify.  For 
myself,  I felt  that  I was  now  about  to  enter  a more  crowded 
scene  upon  a more  elevated  ascent ; and  my  previous  ex- 
perience of  human  nature  was  sufficient  to  convince  me 
that  my  safety  required  a more  continual  circumspection^ 
and  my  success  a more  dignified  bearing. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Je  noterai  cela,  madame,  dans  mon  livre. — Molierk. 

I AM  not  one  of  those  persons  who  are  many  days  in 
deciding  what  may  be  effected  in  one.  On  the  third  day 
from  this,’’  said  I to  Bedos,  at  half-past  nine  in  the 
morning,  I shall  leave  Paris  for  England.” 

Oh,  my  poor  wife  I ” said  the  valet,  ‘‘  she  will  break 
her  heart  if  I leave  her.” 

Then  stay,”  said  I.  Bedos  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“I  prefer  being  with  Monsieur  to  all  things.” 

“ What,  even  to  your  wife  ? ” The  courteous  rascal 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  l*l*l 

placed  his  hand  to  his  heart  and  bowed.  “ You  shall  not 
Buffer  by  your  fidelity  — you  shall  take  your  wife  with  you. 

The  conjugal  valet’s  countenance  fell.  No,”  he  said, 
— he  could  not  take  advantage  of  Monsieur’s  generosity.” 
I insist  upon  it  — not  another  word.” 

1 beg  a thousand  pardons  of  Monsieur ; but  — but  my 
wife  is  very  ill,  and  unable  to  travel.” 

Then,  in  that  case,  so  excellent  a husband  cannot 
think  of  leaving  a sick  and  destitute  wife.” 

“ Poverty  has  no  law  ; if  I consulted  my  heart,  and 
stayed,  I should  starve,  et  il  faut  uzcre.”* 

Je  n'en  vois  pas  la  replied  I,  as  I got 

into  my  carriage.  That  repartee,  by  the  way,  I cannot 
claim  as  my  own  ; it  is  the  very  unanswerable  answer  of  a 
judge  to  an  expostulating  thief. 

I made  the  round  of  reciprocal  regrets,  according  to 
the  orthodox  formula.  The  Duchesse  de  Perpignan  was 
the  last; — (Madame  d’Anville  I reserved  for  another  day) 
— that  virtuous  and  wise  personage  was  in  the  boudoir 
of  reception.  I glanced  at  the  fatal  door  as  I entered.  I 
have  a great  aversion,  after  any  thing  has  once  happened 
and  fairly  subsided,  to  make  any  allusion  to  its  former 
existence.  I never,  therefore,  talked  to  the  Duchess  about 
our  ancient  egaremens.  I spoke,  this  morning,  of  the 
marriage  of  one  person,  the  death  of  another,  and  lastly, 
the  departure  of  my  individual  self. 

‘‘  When  do  y©u  go  ? ” she  said,  eagerly. 

* One  must  live. 

1 don’t  see  the  necessity  of  that. 

M 


ns 


PELHAM;  OR, 


fn  two  days  : my  departure  will  be  softened,  if  I can 
execute  any  commissions  in  England  for  Madame.” 

None,”  said  she  ; and  then  in  a low  tone  (that  none 
of  the  idlers,  who  were  always  found  at  her  morning  levees, 
should  hear),  she  added,  ‘^you  will  receive  a note  from 
me  this  evening.” 

I bowed,  changed  the  conversation,  and  withdrew.  I 
dined  in  my  own  rooms,  and  spent  the  evening  in  looking 
over  the  various  billets-doux,  received  during  my  sejour 
at  Paris. 

“ Where  shall  I put  all  these  locks  of  hair  ? ” asked 
Bedos,  opening  a drawer-full. 

^^Into  my  scrap-book.” 

*^And  all  these  letters?” 

‘‘Into  the  fire.” 

I was  just  getting  into  bed  when  the  Duchesse  do 
Perpignan’s  note  arrived  — it  was  as  follows:  — 

“ My  dear  Friend, 

“ For  that  word,  so  doubtful  in  our  language,  I may  at 
^ least  call  you  in  your  own.  I am  unwilling  that  you  should 
leave  this  country  with  those  sentiments  you  now  entertain 
of  me,  unaltered,  yet  I cannot  imagine  any  form  of  words 
of  sufficient  magic  to  change  them.  Oh  ! if  you  knew  how 
much  I am  to  be  pitied  ; if  you  could  look  for  one  moment 
into  this  lonely  and  blighted  heart ; if  you  could  trace, 
step  by  step,  the  progress  I have  made  in  folly  and  sin, 
you  would  see  how  much  of  what  you  now  condemn  and 
despise,  I have  owed  to  circumstances,  rather  than  to  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  UV 

vice  of  my  disposition.  I was  born  a beauty,  educated  a 
beauty,  owed  fame,  rank,  power  to  beauty ; and  it  is  to 
the  advantages  I have  derived  from  person  that  I owe  the 
ruin  of  my  mind.  You  have  seen  how  much  I now  derive 
from  art ; I loathe  myself  as  I write  that  sentence  ; but  no 
matter  : from  that  moment  you  loathed  me  too.  You  did 
not  take  into  consideration  that  I had  been  living  on  ex- 
citement all  my  youth,  and  that  in  my  rnaturer  years  I 
could  not  relinquish  it.  I had  reigned  by  my  attractions, 
and  I thought  every  art  preferable  to  resigning  my  empire  : 
but,  in  feeding  my  vanity,  I had  not  been  able  to  stifle  the 
dictates  of  my  heart.  Love  is  so  natural  to  a woman,  that 
she  is  scarcely  a woman  who  resists  it : but  in  me  it  has 
been  a sentiment,  not  a passion. 

Sentiment,  then,  and  vanity,  have  been  my  seducers. 
I said,  that  I owed  my  errors  to  circumstances,  not  to 
nature.  You  will  say,  that  in  confessing  love  and  vanity 
to  be  my  seducers,  I contradict  this  assertion  — you  are 
mistaken.  I mean,  that  though  vanity  and  sentiment  were 
in  me,  yet  the  scenes  in  which  I have  been  placed,  and 
the  events  which  I have  witnessed,  gave  to  those  latent 
currents  of  action  a wrong  and  a dangerous  direction.  I 
was  formed  to  love  ; for  one  whom  I did  love  I could 
have  made  every  sacrifice.  I married  a man  I hated,  and 
1 only  learnt  the  depths  of  my  heart  when  it  was  too  late. 

^‘Enough  of  this  ; you  will  leave  this  country  ; we  shall 
never  meet  again  — never!  You  may  return  to  Paris, 
but  I shall  then  be  no  more  ; nHmporte  — I shall  be  un- 
changed to  the  last.  Je  mourrai  en  reine. 


180 


PELHAM;  OR, 


“ As  a latest  pledge  of  what  I have  felt  for  you,  I send 
you  the  enclosed  chain  and  ring  ; as  a latest  favor,  I 
request  you  to  wear  them  for  six  months,  and,  above  all, 
for  two  hours  in  the  Tuileries  to-morrow.  You  will  laugh 
at  this  request : it  seems  idle  and  romantic  — perhaps  it 
is  so.  Love  has  many  exaggerations  in  sentiment,  which 
reason  w'ould  despise.  What  wonder,  then,  that  mine, 
above  that  of  all  others,  should  conceive  them  ? You  will 
not,  I know,  deny  this  request.  Farewell ! — in  this  world 
w^e  shall  never  meet  again.  Farewell ! 

“A  most  sensible  effusion,^’  said  I to  myself,  when  I 
had  read  this  billet ; and  yet,  after  all,  it  shows  more 
feeling  and  more  character  than  I could  have  supposed 
she  possessed.”  I took  up  the  chain  ; it  was  of  Maltese 
w^orkmanship  ; not  very  handsome,  nor,  indeed,  in  any 
way  remarkable,  except  for  a plain  hair  ring  which  was 
attached  to  it,  and  which  I found  myself  unable  to  take 
off,  without  breaking.  ‘‘  It  is  a very  singular  request,” 
thought  I,  “but  then  it  comes  from  a very  singular  person  : 
and  as  it  rather  partakes  of  adventure  and  intrigue,  I 
shall  at  all  events  appear  in  the  Tuileries  to-morrow, 
chained  and  ringed,^^ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Thy  incivility  shall  not  make  me  fail  to  do  what  becomes  me ; 
and  since  thou  hast  more  valor  than  courtesy,  I for  thee  will  hazard 
that  life  which  thou  wouldst  take  from  me.  — Cassandra,  ''‘elegantly 
done  into  English  by  Sir  Charles  Cotterell.” 

About  the  usual  hour  for  the  promenade  in  the  Tuileries, 
I conveyed  myself  thither.  I set  the  chain  and  ring  in 
full  display,  rendered  still  more  conspicuous  by  the  dark- 
colored  dress  which  I always  wore.  I had  not  been  in  the 
gardens  ten  minutes,  before  I perceived  a young  French- 
man, scarcely  twenty  years  of  age,  look  with  a very  peculiar 
air  at  my  new  decorations.  He  passed  and  repassed  me, 
much  oftener  than  the  alternations  of  the  walk  warranted  ; 
and  at  last,  taking  off  his  hat,  said  in  a low  tone,  that  he 
wished  much  for  the  honor  of  exchanging  a few  words 
with  me  in  private.  I saw,  at  the  first  glance,  that  he  was 
a gentleman,  and  accordingly  withdrew  with  him  among 
the  trees,  in  the  more  retired  part  of  the  garden. 

Permit  me,’’  said  he,  “ to  inquire  how  that  ring  and 
chain  came  into  your  possession  ? ” 

Monsieur,”  I replied,  '‘you  will  understand  me,  when 
I say,  that  the  honor  of  another  person  is  implicated  in 
my  concealment  of  that  secret.” 

" Sir,”  said  the  Frenchman,  coloring  violently,  “ I have 
seen  them  before  — in  a word,  they  belong  to  mel” 

L — 16 


182 


PELHAM;  OR, 


I smiled — -my  young  hero  fired  at  this.  Oui,  Mon^ 
s/’ewr/’  said  he,  speaking  very  loud,  and  very  quick,  “ they 
belong  to  me,  and  I insist  upon  your  immediately  restoring 
them,  or  vindicating  your  claim  to  them  by  arms.” 

You  leave  me  but  one  answer,  Monsieur,”  said  I ; “ I 
will  find  a friend  to  wait  upon  you  immediately.  Allow 
me  to  inquire  your  address  ?”  The  Frenchman,  who  was 
greatly  agitated,  produced  a card.  We  bowed  and  sepa- 
rated. 

I was  glancing  over  the  address  I held  in  my  hand, 
which  was  — C.  de  Vautran^  Rue  de  Bourbon,  Numero 
• , when  my  ears  were  saluted  with  — 

“Now  do  you  know  me?  — thou  shouldst  be  Alonzo.’’ 

I did  not  require  the  faculty  of  sight  to  recognise  Lord 
Vincent.  ‘‘  My  dear  fellow,”  said  I,  I am  rejoiced  to  see 
you  ! ” and  thereupon  I poured  into  his  ear  the  particulars 
of  ray  morning  adventure.  Lord  Vincent  listened  to  me 
with  much  apparent  interest,  and  spoke  very  unaflfecledly 
of  his  readiness  to  serve  me,  and  his  regret  at  the  occasion. 

^^Pooh  !”  said  I,  '‘a  duel  in  France  is  not  like  one  in 
England;  the  former  is  a matter  of  course;  a trifle  of 
common  occurrence  ; one  makes  an  engagement  to  fight, 
in  the  same  breath  as  an  engagement  to  dine  ; but  the  latter 
is  a thing  of  state  and  solemnity — long  faces — early  rising 
— and  will-making.  But  do  get  this  business  over  as  soon 
as  you  can,  that  we  may  dine  at  the  Rocker  afterwards.” 

‘‘Well,  my  dear  Pelham,”  said  Vincent,  “I  cannot 
refuse  you  my  services ; and  as  I suppose  Monsieur  d€ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


183 


Vautran  will  choose  swords,  I venture  to  augur  every 
thing  from  your  skill  in  that  species  of  weapon.  It  is  the 
6rst  time  I hi.ve  ever  interfered  in  affairs  of  this  nature, 
but  I hope  to  get  well  through  the  present. 

‘ Nobilis  ornatur  lauro  collega  secundo.' 

as  Juvenal  says  ; au  revoir^'^  and  away  went  Lord  Yincent, 
half  forgetting  all  his  late  anxiety  for  my  life  in  his  paternal 
pleasure  for  the  delivery  of  his  quotation. 

Yincent  is  the  only  punster  I ever  knew  with  a good 
heart,  action,  to  that  race  in  general,  is  so  serious  an 
occupation  as  the  play  upon  words ; and  the  remorseless 
habit  of  murdering  a phrase,  renders  them  perfectly  obdu- 
rate to  the  simple  death  of  a friend.  I walked  through  every 
variety  the  straight  paths  of  the  Tuileries  could  afford,  and 
was  beginning  to  get  exceedingly  tired,  wdien  Lord  Yincent 
returned.  He  looked  very  grave,  and  I saw  at  once  that  he 
was  come  to  particularize  the  circumstances  of  the  last 
extreme.  ^‘The  Bois  de  Boulogne — pistols  — in  one 
hour,"^^  were  the  three  leading  features  of  his  detail. 

‘‘  Pistols  ! ’’  said  I ; “ well,  be  it  so.  I would  rather 
have  had  swords,  for  the  young  man’s  sake  as  much  as  my 
own  ; but  thirteen  paces  and  a steady  aim  will  settle  the 
business  as  soon.  We  will  try  a bottle  of  the  Chambertin 
to-day,  Yincent.”  The  punster  smiled  faintly,  and  for  once 
in  his  life  made  no  reply.  We  walked  gravely  and  soberly 
to  my  lodgings  for  the  pistols,  and  then  proceeded  to  the 
engagement  as  silently  as  philosophers  should  do. 

The  Frenchman  and  his  second  were  on  the  ground 


184 


PELHAM;  OR, 


6rst.  I saw  that  the  former  was  pale,  and  agitated,  not,  I 
think,  from  fear,  but  passion.  When  we  took  our  ground, 
Vincent  came  to  me,  and  said,  in  a low  tone,  “ For  Hea- 
ven’s sake,  suffer  me  to  accommomodate  this,  if  possible  ! ” 

“It  is  not  in  our  power,”  said  I,  receiving  the  pistol. 
I looked  steadily  at  de  Vautran,  and  took  my  aim.  His 
pistol,  owing,  I suppose,  to  the  trembling  of  his  hand, 

V 

went  off  a moment  sooner  than  he  had  anticipated  — the 
ball  grazed  my  hat.  My  aim  was  more  successful — I struck 
him  in  the  shoulder  — the  exact  place  I had  inteneded. 
He  staggered  a few  paces,  but  did  not  fall. 

We  hastened  towards  him  — his  cheek  assumed  a still 
more  livid  hue  as  I approached  I he  muttered  some  half- 
formed  curses  between  his  teeth,  and  turned  from  me  to 
his  second. 

“You  will  inquire  whether  Monsieur  de  Vautran  is 
satisfied,”  said  I to  Vincent,  and  retired  to  a short  distance. 

“ His  second,”  said  .Vincent,  (after  a brief  conference 
with  that  person,)  “ replies  to  my  question,  that  Monsieur 
de  Vautran’s  wound  has  left  him,  for  the  present,  no  alter- 
native.” Upon  this  answer  I took  Vincent’s  arm,  and  we 
returned  forthwith  to  my  carriage. 

“ I congratulate  you  most  sincerely  on  the  event  of 

this  duel,”  said  Vincent.  “Monsieur  de  M (deVau- 

tran’s  second)  informed  me,  when  I waited  on  him,  that 
your  antagonist  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  pistol  shots 
in  Paris,  and  that  a lady  with  whom  he  had  been  long  in 
love,  made  the  death  of  the  chain-bearer  the  price  of  her 
favors.  Devilish  lucky  for  you,  my  good  fellow,  that  hi« 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  185 

hand  trembled  so  ; but  I did  not  know  you  were  so  good 
a shot.^^ 

# 

‘‘Why,’’  I answered,  “I  am  not  what  is  vulgarly  termed  ‘ a 
crack  shot  ’ — I cannot  split  a bullet  on  a penknife  ; but  1 
am  sure  of  a target  somewhat  smaller  than  a man  : and 
ray  hand  is  as  certain  in  the  field  as  it  is  in  the  practice- 
yard.” 

“Ze  sentiment  de  nos  forces  les  augmented  ^ replied 
Vincent.  “ Shall  I tell  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
Rocher  ? ” 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Here’s  a kind  host,  that  makes  the  invitation, 

To  your  own  cost,  to  his/or^  bonne  collation. 

Wycuerly’s  Gent.  Dancing  Master, 

Vons  pouvez  bien  jnger  que  je  n’anrai  pas  grande  peine  a me 
consoler  d’une  chose  dont  je  me  suis  deja  conso:e  Unte  de  fois.— 
Lettres  de  Boileau. 

As  I was  walking  home  with  Vincent  from  the  Rue 
Mont-orgueil,  I saw,  on  entering  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  two 
figures  before  us  ; the  tall  and  noble  stature  of  the  "one  I 
could  not  for  a moment  mistake.  They  stopped  at  the 
door  of  an  hotel,  which  opened  in  that  noiseless  manner  so 
peculiar  to  the  Goneiergerie  of  France.  I was  at  the  door 


* The  conviction  of  our  forces  augments  them, 
16* 


PELHAM;  OR, 


I8B 

the  moment  they  disappeared^  but  not  before  I had  caught 
a glance  of  the  dark  locks  and  pale  countenance  of  War- 
burton, — my  eye  fell  upon  the  number  of  the  hotel. 

Surely,”  said  I,  I have  been  in  that  house  before.” 

Likely  enough,”  growled  Yincent,  who  was  gloriously 
drunk.  “ It  is  a house  of  two-fold  utility  — you  may  play 
with  cards,  or  coquet  with  women,  which  you  please.” 

At  these  words  I remembered  the  hotel  and  its  inmates 
immediately.  It  belonged  to  an  old  nobleman,  w’ho,  though 
on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  was  still  grasping  at  the  good 
things  on  the  margin.  He  lived  with  a pretty  and  clever 
woman,  who  bore  the  name  and  honors  of  his  wife.  They 
kept  up  two  salons,  one  pour  le  petit  souper,  and  the  other 
pour  le  petit  jeu.  You  saw  much  ecarte  and  more  love- 
making,  and  lost  your  heart  and  your  money  with  equal 
facility.  In  a word,  the  marquis  and  hxsjolie  petite  femme 
were  a wise  and  prosperous  couple,  who  made  the  best  of 
their  lives,  and  lived  decently  and  honorably  upon  other 
people. 

^^Allons,  Pelham,”  cried  Yincent,  as  I was  still  standing 
at  the  door  in  deliberation  ; how  much  longer  will  you 
keep  me  to  congeal  in  this  ^ eager  and  nipping  air' — 
* Quamdiu  patientiam  nostram  abutere,  Catilina.'” 

“ Let  us  enter,”  said  I.  I have  the  run  of  the  house, 
and  we  may  find ” 

‘ Some  young  vices — some  fair  iniquities,'  ” interrupted 
Vincent,  with  a hiccup  — 

“‘Leade  on,  good  fellowe,*  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

‘Lead  on,  I do  bid  thee.*” 


adventures  of  a gentleman. 

And  with  these  w^ords,  the  door  opened  in  obedience 
to  my  rap,  and  we  mounted  to  the  marquises  tenement  au 
premiere. 

The  room  was  pretty  full  — the  soidisfinfe  marquis  was 
flitting  from  table  to  table  — betting  at  each,  and  coquet- 
ting with  all ; and  the  marquis  himself,  with  a moist  eye 
and  a shaking  hand,  was  affecting  the  Don  Juan  with  the 
various  Elviras  and  Annas  wdth  which  his  salon  was 
crowded.  Yincent  was  trying  to  follow  me  through  the 
crowd,  but  his  confused  vision  and  unsteady  footing  led 
him  from  one  entanglement  to  another,  till  he  was  quite 
unable  to  proceed.  A tall,  corpulent  Frenchman,  six  foot 
by  five,  was  leaning,  (a  great  and  weighty  objection,)  just 
before  him,  utterly  occupied  in  the  vicissitudes  of  an  ecarte 
table,  and  unconscious  of  Vincent’s  repeated  efforts,  first 
on  one  side,  and  then  on  the  other,  to  pass  him. 

At  last,  the  perplexed  wit,  getting  more  irascible  as  h« 
grew  more  bewildered,  suddenly  seized  the  vast  incum- 
brance by  the  arm,  and  said  to  him,  in  a sharp,  querulous 
tone,  “ Pray,  Monsieur,  why  are  you  like  the  lote-tree  in 
Mahomet’s  Seventh  heaven  ? ” 

‘‘  Sir  ! ” cried  the  astonished  Frenchman. 

“Because,”  (continued  Yincent,  answering  his  own 
enigma)  — “ because,  beyond  you  there  is  no  passing 

The  Frenchman  (one  of  that  race  who  always  forgive 
any  thing  for  a bon  mot)  smiled,  bowied,  and  drew  himself 
aside.  Yincent  steered  by,  and  joining  me,  hiccuped  out, 
“Fortiaque  adversis  opponite  pectora  rebus.” 

Meanwhile  I had  looked  round  the  room  for  the  objects 


188 


PELHAM;  OR, 


of  ray  pursuit : to  ray  great  surprise  I could  not  perceive 
them  ; they  may  be  in  the  other  room,  thought  I,  and  to 
the  other  room  I went ; the  supper  was  laid  out,  and  an 
old  bonne  was  quietly  helping  herself  to  some  sweetmeat. 
All  other  human  beings  (if,  indeed,  an  old  woman  can  be 
called  a human  being  !)  were,  however,  invisible,  and  I 
remained  perfectly  bewildered  as  to  the  non-appearance 
of  Warburton  and  his  companion.  I entered  the  gaming 
room  once  more  — I looked  round  in  every  corner — I 
examined  every  face  — but  in  vain  ; and  with  a feeling 
of  disappointment  very  disproportioned  to  my  loss,  I took 
Vincent’s  arm,  and  we  withdrew. 

The  next  morning  I spent  with  Madame  d’Anville.  A 
Frenchwoman  easily  consoles  herself  for  the  loss  of  a lover 

— she  converts  him  into  a friend,  and  thinks  herself  (no”* 
IS  she  much  deceived)  benefited  by  the  exchange.  We 
talked  of  our  grief  in  maxims,  and  bade  each  other  adieu 
in  antitheses.  Ah  ! it  is  a pleasant  thing  to  drink  with 
Alcidonis  (in  MarmontePs  Tale)  of  the  rose-colored  phial 

— to  sport  with  the  fancy,  not  to  brood  over  the  passion 
of  youth.  There  is  a time  when  the  heart,  from  very 
tenderness,  runs  over,  and  (so  much  do  our  virtues  as  well 
as  vices  flow  from  our  passions)  there  is,  perhaps,  rather 
hope  than  anxiety  for  the  future  in  that  excess.  Then,  if 
Pleasure  errs,  it  errs  through  heedlessness,  not  design  ; 
and  Love,  wandering  over  flowers,  “ profi'ers  honey,  but 
bears  not  a sting.”  Ah  1 happy  time  ! in  the  lines  of  one 
who  can  so  well  translate  feeling  into  w'ords  — 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


189 


“ Fate  has  not  darkened  thee — Hope  has  not  mad^ 

The  blossoms  expand  it  but  opens  to  fade; 

Nothing  is  known  of  those  wearing  fears 
Which  will  shadow  the  light  of  our  after  years.” 

The  Improvisatrice, 

Pardon  this  digression  — not  much,  it  must  be  confessed 
in  my  ordinary  strain — but  let  me,  dear  reader,  very 
seriously  advise  thee  not  to  judge  of  me  yet.  When  thou 
hast  got  to  the  end  of  my  book,  if  thou  dost  condemn  it 
or  its  hero  — why  “I  will  let  thee  alone  (as  honest 
Dogberry  advises)  “ till  thou  art  sober  ; and,  if  thou  make 
me  not,  then,  the  better  answer,  thou  art  not  the  man  I 
took  thee  for.” 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  flattery  comes  mightily  easy  to  one’s 
mouth  in  the  presence  of  royalty.  — Letters  0/ Stephen  Montague. 

’Tis  he. — How  came  he  thence  — what  doth  he  here  ? — Lara. 

I HAD  received  for  that  evening  (my  last  at  Paris)  an 

invitation  from  the  Duchesse  de  B . I knew  that  the 

party  was  to  be  small,  and  that  very  few  besides  the  royal 
family  would  compose  it.  I had  owed  the  honor  of  this 

invitation  to  my  intimacy  with  the “S,  the  great 

friends  of  the  duchesse,  and  I promised  myself  some  plea- 
sure in  the  engagement 

There  were  but  eight  or  nine  persons  present  when  I 
entered  the  royal  chamber.  The  most  distinguished  of 
these  I recognized  immediately  as  the . He  came 


i90 


PEL  HA  M ; OR, 


forward  with  much  grace  as  I approached,  and  expresssed 
his  pleasure  at  seeing  me. 

You  were  presented,  I think,  about  a month  ago,’’ 

added  the  , with  a smile  of  singular  fascination  ; I 

remember  it  well.” 

I bowed  low  to  this  compliment. 

Do  you  propose  staying  long  at  Paris  ?”  continued 
.,he . 

protracted,”  I replied,  “my  departure  solely  for 
the  honor  this  evening  affords  me.  In  so  doing,  please 

your , I have  followed  the  wise  maxim  ol  keeping 

the  greatest  pleasure  to  the  last.” 

The  royal  chevalier  bowed  to  my  answer  with  a smile 
still  sweeter  than  before,  and  began  a convers£ition  with 
me  w^hich  lasted  for  several  minutes.  I was  much  struck 

wdth  the  ’s  air  and  bearing.  They  possess  great 

dignity,  without  any  affectation  of  its  assumption.  He 
speaks  peculiarly  good  English,  and  the  compliment  of 
addressing  me  in  that  language  was  therefore  as  judicious 
as  delicate.  His  observations  owed  little  to  his  rank  ; 
they  would  have  struck  you  as  appropriate,  and  the  air 
which  accompanied  them  pleased  you  as  graceful,  even  in 
a simple  individual.  Judge,  then,  if  they  charmed  me  in 

the . The  upper  part  of  his  countenance  is  prominent 

and  handsome,  and  his  eyes  have  much  softness  of  expres- 
sion His  figure  is  slight  and  particularly  well  knit; 
perhaps  he  is  altogether  more  adapted  to  strike  in  private 
than  with  public  effect.  Upon  the  whole,  he  is  one  of 
those  very  few  persons  of  great  rank  whom  you  would 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  191 

have  had  pride  in  knowing  as  an  equal,  and  have  pleasure 
in  acknowledging  as  a superior.* 

As  the paused,  and  turned  with  great  courtesy  to 

the  Due  de , I bowed  my  way  to  the  Duchesse  de 

B . That  personage,  whose  liveliness  and  piquancy 

of  manner  always  make  one  wish  for  one’s  own  sake  that 
ner  rank  was  less  exalted,  was  speaking  with  great  volu- 
bility to  a tall,  stupid-looking  man,  one  of  the  ministers, 
and  smiled  most  graciously  upon  me  as  J drew  near.  She 
spoke  to  me  of  our  national  amusements.  “ You  are  not,” 
said  she,  ^‘so  fond  of  dancing  as  we  are.” 

We  have  not  the  same  exalted  example  to  be  at  once 
our  motive  and  our  model,”  said  I,  in  allusion  to  the 
Duchesse’s  well-known  attachment  to  that  accomplishment. 

The  Duchesse  d’A came  up  as  I said  this,  and  the 

conversation  flowed  on  evenly  enough  till  the ’s  whist 

party  was  formed.  His  partner  was  Madame  de  la  R , 

the  heroine  of  La  Yendee.  She  was  a tall  and  very  stout 
woman,  singularly  lively  and  entertaining,  and  appeared 
to  possess  both  the  moral  and  the  physical  energy  to  ac- 
complish feats  still  more  noble  than  those  she  performed. 

I soon  saw  that  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  stay  very 
long.  I had  already  made  a favorable  impression,  and, 


^ The  sketch  of  these  unfortunate  members  of  an  exiled  and 
illustrious  family  may  not  be  the  less  interesting  from  the  reverses 
■which,  since  the  first  publication  of  this  -work,  placed  the  Orleans 
family  on  the  Bourbon  throne.  As  for  the  erring  Charles  X.,  he 
■was,  neither  a great  monarch  nor  a wise  man,  but  he  was,  in  air, 
grace,  and  manner,  the  most  thorough-bred  gentleman  I ever  met. 

— r 


PELHAM;  OR, 


in  such  cases,  it  is  my  constant  rule  immediately  to  retire. 
Stay,  if  it  be  whole  hours,  until  you  have  pleased,  but 
leave  the  moment  after  your  success.  A great  genius 
should  not  linger  too  long  either  in  tlie  salon  or  the  world. 
He  must  quit  each  with  eclat.  In  obedience  to  this  rule, 
I no  sooner  found  that  my  court  had  been  effectually  made 
than  I rose  to  withdraw. 

'‘You  will  return  soon  to  Paris/^  said  the  Duchesse  de 

B— . 

" I cannot  resist  it,”  I replied.  " Mon  corps  reviendra 
pour  chercher  mon  cceur.'*^ 

“We  shall  not  forget  you,”  said  the  Duchesse. 

“Your  Royal  Highness  has  now  given  me  my  only 
inducement  not  to  return,”  I answered,  as  I bowed  out  of 
the  room. 

It  was  much  too  early  to  go  home  ; at  that  time  I was 
too  young  and  restless  to  sleep  till  long  after  midnight ; 
and  while  I was  deliberating  in  what  manner  to  pass  the 
hours,  I suddenly  recollected  the  hotel  in  the  Rue  St. 
Ilonore,  to  which  Vincent  and  I had  paid  so  unceremonious 
a visit  the  night  before.  Impressed  with  the  hope  that  I 
might  be  more  successful  in  meeting  Warburton  than  I 
had  then  been,  I ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
abode  of  the  old  Marquis  . 

The  salon  was  as  crowded  as  usual.  I lost  a few 
Napoleons  at  ecarte,  in  order  to  pay  my  entree,  and  then 
commenced  a desultory  flirtation  with  one  of  the  fair  de- 
coys. In  this  occupation  my  eye  and  my  mind  frequently 
wandered.  I could  not  divest  myself  of  the  hope  of  once 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  193 

more  seeing  Warburton  before  my  departure  from  Paris, 
and  every  reflection  which  confirmed  my  suspicions  of  his 
identity  redoubled  my  interest  in  his  connection  with  Tyr- 
rell and  the  vulgar  debauche  of  the  Rue  St.  Dominique 
I was  making  some  languid  reply  to  my  Cynthia  of  the 
minute,  when  my  ear  was  suddenly  greeted  by  an  English 
voice.  I looked  round,  and  saw  Thornton  in  close  con- 
versation with  a man  whose  back  was  turned  to  me,  but 
whom  I rightly  conjectured  to  be  Tyrrell. 

Oh  I he’ll  be  here  soon,”  said  the  former,  “and  we’ll 
bleed  him  regularly  to-night.  It  is  very  singular  that  you 
who  play  so  much  better  should  not  have  Jloored  him 
yesterday  evening.” 

Tyrrell  replied  in  a tone  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible,  and 
a minute  afterwards  the  door  opened,  and  Warburton 
entered.  He  came  up  instantly  to  Thornton  and  his  com- 
panion ; and  after  a few  words  of  ordinary  salutation, 
Warburton  said,  in  one  of  those  modulated  but  artificial 
tones  so  peculiar  to  himself,  “ I am  sure,  Tyrrell,  that  you 
must  be  eager  for  your  revenge.  To  lose  to  such  a mere 
tyro  as  myself,  is  quite  enough  to  double  the  pain  of  de- 
feat, and  the  desire  of  retaliation.” 

I did  not  hear  Tyrrell’s  reply,  but  the  trio  presently 
moved  towards  the  door,  which  till  then  I had  not  noticed, 
and  which  was  probably  the  entrance  to  our  hostess’s 
boudoir.  The  soi-disanfe  marquise  opened  it  herself,  for 
which  kind  office  Thornton  gave  her  a leer  and  a wink, 
characteristic  of  his  claims  to  gallantry.  When  the  door 
was  again  closed  upon  them,  I went  up  to  the  marquise, 
L— IT  N 


194 


PELHAM;  OR, 


and  after  a few  compliraeuts,  asked  whether  the  room 
Messieurs  les  Anglais  had  entered  was  equally  open  to 
all  guests  ? 

“Why,^’  said  she,  with  a slight  hesitation,  *Hhose 
gentlemen  play  for  higher  stakes  than  we  usually  do  here, 
and  one  of  them  is  apt  to  get  irritated  by  the  advice  and 
expostulations  of  the  lookers-on  ; and  so  after  they  had 
played  a short  time  in  the  salon  last  night,  Monsieur 
Thornton,  a very  old  friend  of  mine,  (here  the  lady  looked 
down,)  asked  me  permission  to  occupy  the  inner  room  ; 
and  as  1 knew  him  so  well,  I could  have  no  scruple  in 
obliging  him.’^ 

Then,  I suppose,”  said  I,  “that  as  a stranger,  I have 
not  permission  to  intrude  upon  them?” 

“ Shall  I inquire  ?”  answered  the  marquise. 

“ No  ! ” said  I,  “ it  is  not  worth  while  ; ” and  accord- 
ingly I re-seated  myself,  and  appeared  once  more  occupied 
in  saying  des  belles  choses  to  my  kind-hearted  neighbor. 
I could  not,  however,  with  all  my  dissimulation,  sustain  a 
conversation  from  which  my  present  feelings  were  so 
estranged,  for  more  than  a few  minutes  ; and  I was  never 
more  glad  than  when  my  companion,  displeased  with  my 
inattention,  rose,  and  left  me  to  my  own  reflections. 

What  could  Warburton  (if  he  were  the  person  I sus 
pected)  gain  by  the  disguise  he  had  assumed  ? He  was 
too  rich  to  profit  by  any  sums  he  could  win  from  Tyrrell, 
and  too  much  removed  from  Thornton’s  station  in  life,  to 
derive  any  pleasure  or  benefit  from  his  acquaintance  with 
that  person.  His  dark  threats  of  vengeance  in  the  Jardin 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  195 

des  planteSy  and  his  reference  to  the  two  hundred  pounds 
Tyrrell  possessed,  p^ave  me,  indeed,  some  clue  as  to  his 
real  object ; but  then  — why  this  disguise  ! Had  he  known 
Tyrrell  before,  in  his  proper  semblance,  and  had  anything 
passed  between  them,  which  rendered  this  concealment 
now  expedient  ? — this,  indeed,  seemed  probable  enough  ; 
but,  was  Thornton  entrusted  with  the  secret?  — and,  if 
revenge  was  the  object,  was  that  low  man  a partaker  in 
its  execution?  — or  was  he  not,  more  probably,  playing 
the  traitor  to  both  ? As  for  Tyrrell  himself,  his  own 
designs  upon  Warburton  were  sufficient  to  prevent  pity 
for  any  fall  into  the  pit  he  had  digged  for  others. 

Meanwhile,  time  passed  on,  the  hour  grew  late,  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  guests  were  gone  ; still  I could 
not  tear  myself  away  ; I looked  from  time  to  time  at  the 
door,  with  an  indescribable  feeling  of  anxiety.  I longed, 
yet  dreaded,  for  it  to  open  ; I felt  as  if  my  own  fate  were 
in  some  degree  implicated  in  what  was  then  agitating 
within,  and  I could  not  resolve  to  depart,  until  I had 
formed  some  conclusions  on  the  result. 

At  length  the  door  opened  ; Tyrrell  came  forth  — his 
countenance  was  perfectly  hueless,  his  cheek  was  sunk  and 

hollow,  the  excitement  of  two  hours  had  been  sufficient  to 

« 

render  it  so.  I observed  that  his  teeth  were  set,  and  his 
hand  clenched,  as  they  are  when  we  idly  seek,  by  the 
strained  and  extreme  tension  of  the  nerves,  to  sustain  the 
fever  and  the  agony  of  the  mind.  Warburton  and  Thorn- 
ton followed  him  ; the  latter  with  his  usual  air  of  reckless 
indifference  — his  quick  rolling  eye  glanced  from  the  mar- 


196 


PELHAM;  OR, 


quise  to  myself,  and  though  his  color  changed  slightly,  bis 
nod  of  recognition  was  made  with  its  wonted  impudence 
and  ease  ; but  Warburton  passed  on,  like  Tyrrell,  without 
noticing  or  heeding  anything  around.  He  fixed  his  large 
bright  eye  upon  the  figure  which  preceded  him,  without 
once  altering  its  direction,  and  the  extreme  beauty  of  his 
features,  which,  not  all  the  dishevelled  length  of  his  hair 
and  whiskers  could  disguise,  was  lighted  up  with  a joyous 
but  savage  expression,  which  made  me  turn  away,  almost 
with  a sensation  of  fear. 

Just  as  Tyrrell  was  leaving  the  room,  Warburton  put 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder  — Stay,”  said  he,  ‘‘I  am 
going  your  way,  and  will  accompany  you.”  He  turned 
round  to  Thornton  (who  was  already  talking  with  the 
marquise)  as  he  said  this,  and  waved  his  hand,  as  if  to 
prevent  his  following  ; the  next  moment,  Tyrrell  and  him- 
self had  left  the  room. 

I could  not  now  remain  longer.  I felt  a feverish  rest- 
lessness, which  impelled  me  onwards.  I quitted  the  salon, 
and  was  on  the  staircase  before  the  gamesters  had  de- 
scended. W'arburton  was,  indeed,  but  a few  steps  before 
me  ; the  stairs  were  but  very  dimly  lighted  by  one  expiring 
lamp  ; he  did  not  turn  round  to  see  me,  and  was  probably 
too  much  engrossed  to  hear  me. 

‘‘  You  may  yet  have  a favorable  reverse,”  said  he  to 
Tyrrell. 

Impossible  ! ” replied  the  latter,  in  a tone  of  such  deep 
anguish,  that  it  thrilled  me  to  the  very  heart.  “ 1 am  aa 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  • 191 

ntter  bep:gar  — I have  nothing  in  the  world  — I have  no 
expectation  but  to  starve  I 

While  he  was  saying  this,  I perceived  by  the  faint  and 
uncertain  light,  that  Warburtoii’s  hand  was  raised  to  his 
own  countenance. 

Have  you  no  hope  — no  spot  wherein  to  look  for  com* 
fort  — is  beggary  your  absolute  and  only  possible  resource 
from  famine  ?”  he  replied,  in  a low  and  sui)pressed  tone. 

At  that  moment  we  were  just  descending  into  the  court* 
yard.  Warburton  was  but  one  step  behind  Tyrrell  : the 
latter  made  no  answer;  but  as  he  passed  from  the  dark 
staircase  into’  the  clear  moonlight  of  the  court,  I caught 
a glimpse  of  the  big  tears  which  rolled  heavily  and  silently 
down  his  cheeks.  Warburton  laid  his  hand  upon  him. 

Turn,”  he  cried,  suddenly,  “your  cup  is  not  yet  full 
— look  upon  me  — and  remember  ! ” 

I pressed  forward  — the  light  shone  full  upon  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  speaker  — the  dark  hair  was  gone  — my 
suspicions  were  true  — I discovered  at  one  glance  the 
bright  locks  and  lofty  brow  of  Reginald  Glanville.  Slowly 
Tyrrell  gazed,  as  if  he  were  endeavoring  to  repel  some 
terrible  remembrance,  which  gathered,  with  every  instant, 
more  fearfully  upon  him  ; until,  as  the  stern  countenance 
of  Glanville  grew  darker  and  darker  in  its  mingled  scorn 
and  defiance,  he  uttered  one  low  cry,  and  sank  senseless 
upon  the  earth. 


17’*' 


198  . 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Well,  he  is  gone,  and  with  him  go  these  thoughts. — 

Shakspeare. 

What  ho!  for  England!  — Ihid. 

I HAVE  always  had  an  insuperable  horror  of  being  placed 
fn  what  the  vulgar  call  di predicament.  In  a predicament 
I was  most  certainly  placed  at  the  present  moment.  A 
man  at  my  feet  in  a fit  — the  cause  of  it  having  very  wisely 
disappeared,  devolving  upon  me  the  charge  of  watching 
recovering,  and  conducting  home  the  afflicted  person — • . 
made  a concatenation  of  disagreeable  circumstances,  as 
much  unsuited  to  the  temper  of  Henry  Pelham,  as  his  evil 
fortune  could  possibly  have  contrived. 

After  a short  pause  of  deliberation,  I knocked  up  the 
porter,  procured  some  cold  water,  and  bathed  Tyrrell’s 
temples  for  several  moments  before  he  recovered.  He 
opened  his  eyes  slowly,  and  looked  carefully  round  with  a 
fea’-ful  and  suspicious  glance:  Gone  — gone  — (he  mut- 
tered)— ay  — what  did  he  here  at  such  a moment?  — 
vengeance  — for  what?  7 could  not  tell  it  would  have 
killed  her  — let  him  thank  his  own  folly.  I do  not  fear  ; 

I defy  his  malice.’^  And  with  these  words  Tyrrell  sprung 
to  his  feet. 

“ Can  I assist  you  to  your  home  V said  I ; ‘‘you  are 
still  unwell  — pray  suffer  me  to  have  that  pleasure.” 

I spoke  with  some  degree  of  warmth  and  sincerity  ; the 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTELMAN. 


199 


unfortunate  man  stared  wildly  at  me  for  a moment,  before 
he  replied.  Who,”  said  he,  at  last,  who  speaks  to  me 
. — the  lost  — the  guilty  — the  ruined,  in  the  accents  of 
interest  and  kindness?” 

I placed  his  arm  in  mine,  and  drew  him  out  of  the  yard 
into  the  open  street.  He  looked  at  me  with  an  eager  and 
wistful  survey,  and  then,  by  degrees,  appearing  to  recover 
his  full  consciousness  of  the  present,  and  recollection  of 
the  past,  he  pressed  my  hand  w^armly,  and  after  a short 
silence,  during  which  w^e  moved  on  slowly  towards  the 
Tuileries,  he  said, — “ Pardon  me,  sir,  if  I have  not  suf- 
ficiently thanked  you  for  your  kindness  and  attention.  I 
am  now  quite  restored  ; the  close  room  in  which  I have 
been  sitting  for  so  many  hours,  and  the  feverish  excitement 
of  play,  acting  upon  a frame  much  debilitated  by  ill  healths 
occasioned  my  momentary  indisposition.  I am  now,  I 
repeat,  quite  recovered,  and  will  no  longer  trespass  upon 
your  good-nature.” 

‘‘  Really,”  said  I,  you  had  better  not  discard  my  services 
yet.  Do  suffer  me  to  accompany  you  home  ? ” 

Home  ! ” muttered  Tyrrell,  with  a deep  sigh  ; '‘no  — 
no  ! ” and  then,  as  if  recollecting  himself,  he  said,  “ I thank 
you,  sir,  but  — but  — ” 

I saw  his  embarrassment,  and  interrupted  him. 

"Well,  if  I cannot  assist  you  any  further,  I will  take 
your  dismissal.  I trust  we  shall  meet  again  under  auspices 
better  calculated  for  improving  acquaintance.” 

Tyrrell  bowed,  once  more  pressed  my  hand,  and  we 
parted.  I hurried  on  up  the  long  street  towards  my  hotel 


200 


PELHAM;  OK, 


When  I had  got  several  paces  beyond  Tyrrell,  1 turned 
back  to  look  at  him.  He  was  standing  in  the  same  place 
n which  I had  left  him.  I saw  by- the  moonlight  that  his 
face  and  hands  were  raised  towards  Heaven.  It  was  but 
for  a moment ; his  attitude  changed  while  I was  yet  looking 
and  he  slowly  and  calmly  continued  his  way  in  the  same 
direction  as  myself.  When  I reached  my  chambers,  I 
hastened  immediately  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep  : the  extra- 
ordinary scene  I had  witnessed ; the  dark  and  ferocious 
expression  of  Glanville’s  countenance,  so  strongly  impressed 
with  every  withering  and  deadly  passion  ; the  fearful  and 
unaccountable  remembrance  that  had  seemed  to  gather 
over  the  livid  and  varying  face  of  the  gamester ; the  mys- 
tery of  Glanville^s  disguise  ; the  intensity  of  a revenge  so 
terribly  expressed,  together  with  the  restless  and  burning 
anxiety  I felt  — not  from  idle  curiosity,  but,  from  my  early 
and  intimate  friendship  for  Glanville,  to  fathom  its  cause 
— all  crowded  upon  my  mind  with  a feverish  confusion, 
that  effectually  banished  repose. 

It  was  with  that  singular  sensation  of  pleasure  which 
none  but  tho^e  who  have  passed  frequent  nights  in  restless 
and  painful  agitation,  can  recognize,  that  I saw  the  bright 
sun  penetrate  through  my  shutters,  and  heard  Bedos  move 
across  my  room. 

“ What  hour  will  Monsieur  have  the  post-horses  ? ’’  said 
that  praiseworthy  valet. 

*‘At  eleven,’^  answered  I,  springing  out  of  bed  with  joy 
at  the  change  of  scene  which  the  very  mention  of  my 
journey  brought  before  my  mind. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  201 


I was  turning  listlessly,  as  I sate  at  breakfast,  over  the 
pages  of  Galignani^s  Messenger,  when  the  following  para* 
graph  caught  my  attention  : — 

‘‘  It  is  rumored  among  the  circles  of  the  Faubourg,  that 

a duel  was  fought  on , between  a young  Englishman 

and  Monsieur  D ; the  cause  of  it  is  said  to  be  the 

pretensions  of  both  to  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de  P , 

who,  if  report  be  true,  cares  for  neither  of  the  gallants, 
but  lavishes  her  favors  upon  a certain  attache  to  the 
English  embassy.” 

“Such,”  thought  I,  “are  the  materials  for  all  human 
histories.  Every  one  who  reads,  will  eagerly  swallow  this 
account  as  true  : if  an  author  were  writing  the  memoirs  of 
the  court,  he  would  compile  his  facts  and  scandal  from  this 
very  collection  of  records  ; and  yet,  though  so  near  the 
truth,  how  totally  false  it  is  I Thank  Heaven,  however, 
that,  at  least,  I am  not  suspected  of  the  degradation  of 
the  duchess’s  love  : — to  fight  for  her  may  make  me  seem 
a fool  — to  be  loved  by  her  would  constitute  me  a villain.” 

“ The  horses,  sir  ! ” said  Bedos  ; and  “ The  bill,  sir  ? ” 
said  the  gargon.  Alas  ! that  those  and  that  should  be  so 
coupled  together ; and  that  we  can  never  take  our  depar- 
ture without  such  awful  witnesses  of  our  sojourn.  Well 

— to  be  brief  — the  bill  for  once  was  discharged  — the 
horses  snorted — the  carriage-door  was  opened — I entered 

— Bedos  mounted  behind  — crack  went  the  whips  — off 
went  the  steeds,  and  so  terminated  my  adventures  at  dear 
Paris. 


202 


PELHAM;  OR 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

0,  cousin,  you  know  him  — the  fine  gentleman  they  talk  of  so 
much  in  town.  — Wycherly’s  Dancing  Master. 

By  the  bright  days  of  my  youth,  there  is  something 
truly  delightful  in  the  quick  motion  of  four,  ay,  or  even 
two  post-horses  ! In  France,  where  one’s  steeds  are  none 
of  the  swiftest,  the  pleasures  of  travelling  are  not  quite  so 
great  as  in  England  ; still,  however,  to  a man  who  is  tired 
of  one  scene  — panting  for  another  — in  love  with  excite- 
ment, and  yet  not  wearied  of  its  pursuit  — the  turnpike- 
road  is  more  grateful  than  the  easiest  chair  ever  invented, 
and  the  little  prison  we  entitle  a carriage,  more  cheerful 
than  the  state  rooms  of  Devonshire  House. 

We  reached  Calais  in  safety,  and  in  good  time,  the  next 
day. 

Will  Monsieur  dine  in  his  rooms,  or  at  the  table 
d'hote 

In  his  rooms,  of  course,”  said  Bedos,  indignantly  deci- 
ding the  question.  A French  valet’s  dignity  is  always 
involved  in  his  master’s. 

‘‘You  are  too  good,  Bedos,”  said  I,  “I  shall  dine  at 
the  table  d'hote  — whom  have  you  there  in  general  ?” 

Really,”  said  the  gargon,  “ we  have  such  a swift  suc- 
cession of  guests,  that  we  seldom  see  the  same  faces  two 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


203 


days  running.  We  have  as  many  cnanges  as  an  English 
administration/’ 

^‘You  are  facetious,”  said  I 

^‘No,”  returned  the  gargon,  who  was  a philosopher  as 
well  as  a wit;  “no,  my  digestive  organs  are  very  weak, 
and  par  consequence,  I am  naturally  melancholy  — Ah, 
ma  foi,  ires  triste  ! ” and  with  these  words  the  sentimental 
plate-changer  placed  his  hand — I can  scarcely  say,  whether 
on  his  heart,  or  his  stomach,  and  sighed  bitterly  ! 

“How  long,”  said  I,  “does  it  want  to  dinner?”  My 
question  restored  the  gargon  to  himself. 

“ Two  hours.  Monsieur,  two  hours,”  and  twirling  his 
serviette  with  an  air  of  exceeding  importance,  off  went  my 
melancholy  acquaintance  to  compliment  new  customers, 
and  complain  of  his  digestion. 

After  I had  arranged  my  toilette  — yawned  three  times, 
and  drunk  two  bottles  of  soda-water,  I strolled  into  the 
town.  As  I was  sauntering  along  leisurely  enough,  I heard 
my  name  pronounced  behind  me.  I turned,  and  saw  Sir 
Willoughby  Townshend,  an  old  baronet  of  an  antediluvian 
age  — a fossil  witness  of  the  wonders  of  England,  before 
the  deluge  of  French  manners  swept  away  ancient  customs, 
and  created,  out  of  the  wrecks  of  what  had  been,  a new 
order  of  things,  and  a new  race  of  mankind. 

“ Ah  ! my  dear  Mr.  Pelham,  how  are  you  ? and  the 
worthy  Lady  Frances,  your  mother,  and  your  excellent 
father,  all  well  ? — I’m  delighted  to  hear  it.  Russelton,” 
continued  Sir  Willoughby,  turning  to  a middle-aged  man, 
whose  arm  he  held,  “you  remember  Pelham  — true  Whig 


204 


PELHAM;  OR, 


— great  friend  of  Sheridan’s  ? — let  me  introduce  his  son 
to  you.  Mr.  Russelton,  Mr.  Pelham  ; Mr.  Pelham,  Mr. 
Ilusselton.” 

At  the  name  of  the  person  thus  introduced  to  me,  a 
thousand  recollections  crowded  upon  my  mind  ; the  con- 
temporary and  rival  of  Napoleon  — the  autocrat  of  the 
great  world  of  fashion  and  cravats  — the  mighty  genius 
before  whom  aristocracy  hath  been  humbled  and  ton 
abashed  — at  whose  nod  the  hsLUghiiest  noblesse  of  Europe 
had  quailed  — who  had  introduced,  by  a single  example, 
starch  into  neckcloths,  and  had  fed  the  pampered  appetite 
of  his  boot-tops  on  champagne  — whose  coat  and  whose 
friend  were  cut  wdth  an  equal  grace  — and  whose  name 
was  connected  with  every  triumph  that  the  world’s  great 
virtue  of  audacity  could  achieve  — the  illustrious,  the  im- 
mortal Russelton,  stood  before  me  ! I recognized  in  him 
a congenial,  though  a superior  spirit,  and  I bowed  with  a 
profundity  of  veneration,  with  which  no  other  human  being 
has  ever  inspired  me. 

Mr.  Russelton  seemed  pleased  with  my  evident  respect, 
and  returned  my  salutation  with  a mock  dignity  which 
enchanted  me.  He  offered  me  his  disengaged  arm  ; I took 
it  with  transport,  and  we  all  three  proceeded  up  the  street. 

So,”  said  Sir  Willoughby  — “so,  Russelton,  you  like 
your  quarters  here  ; plenty  of  sport  among  the  English,  I 
should  think  : you  have  not  forgot  the  art  of  quizzing  ; eh, 
old  fellow  ?” 

“ Even  if  I had,”  said  Mr.  Russelton,  speaking  very 
slowly,  “ the  sight  of  Sir  Willoughby  Townshend  would 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  205 


be  quite  sufficient  to  refresh  mj  memory.  Yes,”  continued 
the  venerable  wreck,  after  a short  pause  — “ yes,  I like  my 
residence  pretty  well;  I enjoy  a calm  conscience,  and  a 
clean  shirt : what  more  can  man  desire  ? 1 have  made 

acquaintance  with  a tame  parrot,  and  I have  taught  it  to 
say,  whenever  an  English  fool  with  a stiff  neck  and  a loose 
swagger  passes*  him  — ‘True  Briton  — true  Briton/  I 
take  care  of  my  health,  and  reflect  upon  old  age.  I have 
read  Gil  Bias,  and  the  Whole  Duty  of  Man  ; and,  in  short, 
what  with  instructing  my  parrot,  and  improving  myself,  I 
think  I pass  my  time  as  creditably  and  decorously  as  the 

Bishop  of  Winchester,  or  my  Lord  of  A himself.  So 

you  have  just  come  from  Paris,  I presume,  Mr.  Pelham  ? ” 

“ I left  it  yesterday  ! ” 

“Full  of  those  horrid  English,  I suppose;  thrusting 
their  broad  hats  and  narrow  minds  into  every  shop  in  the 
Palais  Royal  — winking  their  dull  eyes  at  the  damsels  of 
the  counter,  and  manufacturing  their  notions  of  French 
into  a higgle  for  sous.  Oh  ! the  monsters  ! — they  bring 
on  a bilious  attack  whenever  I think  of  them  : the  other 
day  one  of  them  accosted  me,  and  talked  me  into  a nervous 
fever  about  patriotism  and  roast  pigs  : luckily  I was  near 
my  own  house,  and  reached  it  before  the  thing  became 
fatal ; but  only  think,  had  I wandered  too  far  when  he  met 
me  I at  my  time  of  life,  the  shock  would  have  been  too 
great ; I should  certainly  have  perished  in  a fit.  I hope  at 
least,  they  would  have  put  the  cause  of  my  death  in  my 
epitaph  — ‘ Died,  of  an  Englishman,  John  Russelton,  Esq., 
I. —18 


206 


P E L H A M ; OR, 


aged,^  &c.  Pah  ! You  are  not  engaged,  Mr.  Pelham ; dine 
with  me  to-day  ; Willoughby  and  his  umbrella  are  coming, b 

“ VolontierSy'^^  said  I,  “ though  I was  going  to  make 
observations  on  men  and  manners  at  the  table  d'  hole  of 
my  hotel. 

“I  am  most  truly  grieved,’’  replied  Mr.  Kusselton,  “at 
depriving  you  of  so  much  amusement.  With  me  you  will 
only  find  some  tolerable  Lafitte,  and  an  anomalous  dish 
my  cuismiere  calls  a mutton  chop.  It  will  be  curious  to 
see  what  variation  in  the  monotony  of  mutton  she  will 
adopt  to-day.  The  first  time  I ordered  ' a chop,’  I thought 
I had  amply  explained  every  necessary  particular ; a certain 
portion  of  flesh,  and  a gridiron  : at  seven  o’clock  up  came 
a cotelette  panee  ! Faute  de  mieux,  I swallowed  the  com- 
position, drowned  as  it  was  in  a most  pernicious  sauce. 
I had  one  hour’s  sleep,  and  the  nightmare,  in  consequence. 
The  next  day,  I imagined  no  mistake  could  be  made  : sauce 
was  strictly  prohibited  ; all  extra  ingredients  laid  under  a 
most  special  veto,  and  a natural  gravy  gently  recommend- 
ed : the  cover  was  removed,  and  lo  ! a breast  of  mutton, 
all  bone  and  gristle,  like  the  dying  gladiator  ! This  time 
my  heart  was  too  full  for  wrath  ; I sat  down  and  wept  I 
To-day  will  be  the  third  time  I shall  make  the  experiment, 
if  French  cooks  will  consent  to  let  one  starve  upon  nature. 
For  my  part,  I have  no  stomach  left  now  for  art : I wore 
out  my  digestion  in  youth,  swallowing  Jack  St.  Leger’s 
suppers,  and  Sheridan’s  promises  to  pay.  Pray,  Mr.  Pel 
ham,  did  you  try  Staub  when  you  were  at  Paris 

“ Yes  : and  thought  him  one  degree  better  than  Stulty, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


207 


whom,  indeed,  I have  long  condemned,  as  fit  only  for  minors 
at  Oxford,  and  majors  in  the  infantry.” 

True,”  said  Russelton,  with  a very  faint  smile  at  a pun, 
somewhat  in  his  own  way,  and  levelled  at  a tradesman,  of 
whom  he  was,  perhaps,  a little  jealous — “ True  ; Stultz 
aims  at  making  gentlemen,  not  coats  ; there  is  a degree  of 
aristocratic  pretension  in  his  stitches,  which  is  vulgar  to 
an  appalling  degree.  You  can  tell  a Stultz  coat  any  where, 
which  is  quite  enough  to  damn  it ; the  moment  a man’s 
known  by  an  invariable  cut,  and  that  not  orginal,  it  ought 
to  be  all  over  with  him.  Give  me  the  man  who  makes  the 
tailor,  not  the  tailor  who  makes  the  man.” 

Right,  by  Jove  ! ” cried  Sir  Willoughby,  who  was  as 

badly  dressed  as  one  of  Sir  E ’s  dinners.  Right ; 

just  my  opinion.  I have  always  told  my  Schneiders  to  make 
my  clothes  neither  in  the  fashion  nor  out  of  it ; to  copy  no 
other  man’s  coat,  and  to  cut  their  cloth  according  to  my 
natural  body,  not  according  to  an  isosceles  triangle.  Look 
at  this  coat,  for  instance,”  and  Sir  Willoughby  Townshend 
made  a dead  halt,  that  we  might  admire  his  garment  the 
more  accurately. 

Coat  I ” said  Russelton,  with  an  appearance  of  the 
most  naive  surprise,  and  taking  hold  of  the  collar,  suspi- 
ciously, by  the  finger  and  thumb  ; ‘‘  coat,  Sir  Willoughby ! 
do  you  call  this  thing  a coat  ? ” 


208 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII- 

J’ai  toujours  cru  que  le  bon  n’^toit  que  le  beau  mis  en  aclion.  — 
Rousseau. 

Shortly  after  Russelton’s  answer  to  Sir  Willoughby’3 
eulogistic  ^observations  on  his  own  attire,  I left  those  two 
worthies  till  I was  to  join  them  at  dinner  ; it  wanted  three 
hours  yet  to  that  time,  and  I repaired  to  my  quarters  to 
bathe  and  write  letters.  I scribbled  one  to  Madame  D’An- 
ville,  full  of  antitheses  and  maxims,  sure  to  charm  her  ; 
another  to  my  mother,  to  prepare  her  for  my  arrival ; and 
a third  to  Lord  Vincent,  giving  him  certain  commissions 
at  Paris,  which  I had  forgotten  personally  to  execute. 

My  pen  is  not  that  of  a ready  writer;  and  what  with 
yawning,  stretching,  and  putting  pen  to  paper,  it  was  time 
to  bathe  and  dress  before  my  letters  were  completed.  I 
set  off  to  Russelton’s  abode  in  high  spirits,  and  fully  re- 
solved to  make  the  most  of  a character  so  original. 

It  was  a very  small  room  in  which  I found  him  ; he  was 
stretched  in  an  easy  chair  before  the  fire-place,  gazing 
complacently  at  his  feet,  and  apparently  occupied  in  any- 
thing but  listening  to  Sir  Willoughby  Townshend,  who 
was  talking  with  great  vehemence  about  politics  and  the 
corn-laws.  Notwithstanding  the  heat  of  the  weather,  there 
was  a small  fire  on  the  hearth,  which  aided  by  the  earnest- 
ness of  his  efforts  to  convince  his  host,  put  poor  Sir  Wil- 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


20& 


aOughby  into  a most  intense  perspiration.  Russelton, 
however,  seemed  enviably  cool,  and  hung  over  the  burning 
wood  like  a cucumber  on  a hotbed.  Sir  Willoughby  came 
to  a full  stop  by  the  window,  and  (gasping  for  breath) 
attempted  to  throw  it  open. 

‘‘  What  are  you  doing  ? for  Heaven’s  sake,  what  are  you 
doing?”  cried  Russelton,  starting  up;  “do  you  mean  to 
kill  me  ? ” 

“Kill  you  ! ” said  Sir  Willoughby,  quite  aghast. 

“Yes;  kill  me  I is  it  not  quite  cold  enough  already  in 
this  d — d seafaring  place,  without  making  my  only  retreat, 
humble  as  it  is,  a theatre  for  thorough  drauglits  ? Have 
I not  had  the  rheumatism  in  my  left  shoulder,  and  the 
ague  in  my  little  finger,  these  last  six  months  ? and  must 
you  now  terminate  my  miserable  existence  at  one  blow,  by 
opening  that  abominable  lattice  ? Do  you  think,  because 
your  great  frame,  fresh  from  the  Yorkshire  wolds,  and 
compacted  of  such  materials,  that  one  would  think,  in 
eating  your  beeves,  you  had  digested  their  hide  into  skin 
— do  you  think,  because  your  limbs  might  be  cut  up  into 
planks  for  a seventy-eight,  and  warranted  waterproof 
without  pitch,  because  of  the  density  of  their  pores  — do 
you  think,  because  you  are  as  impervious  as  an  araphoros- 
tic  shoe,  that  I,  John  Russelton,  am  equally  impenetrable, 
and  that  you  are  to  let  easterly  winds  play  about  my  room 
like  children,  begetting  rheums  and  asthmas  and  all  manner 
of  catarrhs  ? I do  beg.  Sir  Willoughby  Townshend.  that 
you  will  suffer  me  to  die  a more  natural  and  civ 
18*  o 


21C 


PELHAM;  OR 


death  ; ” and  so  saying,  Kusselton  sank  down  into  his 
ehair,  apparently  in  the  last  stage  of  exhaustion. 

Sir  Willoughby,  who  remembered  the  humorist  in  all 
his  departed  glory,  and  still  venerated  him  as  a temple 
where  the  deity  yet  breathed,  though  the  altar  was  over- 
thrown, made  to  this  extraordinary  remonstrance  no  other 
reply  than  a long  whiff,  and  a Well,  Russelton,  damme 
but  you’re  a queer  fellow.” 

Russelton  now  turned  to  me,  and  invited  me,  with  a 
tone  of  the  most  lady-like  languor,  to  sit  down  near  the 
fire.  As  I am  naturally  of  a chilly  disposition,  and  fond, 
too,  of  beating  people  in  their  own  line,  I drew  a chair 
close  to  the  hearth,  declared  the  weather  was  very  cold, 
and  requested  permission  to  ring  the  bell  for  some  more 
wood.  Russelton  stared  for  a moment,  and  then,  with  a 
politeness  he  had  not  deigned  to  exert  before,  approached 
his  chair  to  mine,  and  began  a conversation,  which,  in  spite 
of  his  bad  witticisms,  and  peculiarity  of  manner,  I found 
singularly  entertaining. 

Dinner  was  announced,  and  we  adjourned  to  another 
room  : — poor  Sir  Willoughby,  with  his  waistcoat  unbut- 
toned, and  breathing  like  a pug  in  a phthisis  — groaned 
bitterly,  when  he  discovered  that  this  apartment  was 
smaller  and  hotter  than  the  one  before.  Russelton  imme- 
diately helped  him  to  some  scalding  soup  — and  said,  as 
he  told  the  servant  to  hand  Sir  Willoughby  the  cayenne, 
**  you  will  find  this,  my  dear  Townshend,  a very  sensible 
polage  for  this  severe  season.” 

Dinner  went  off  tamely  enough,  with  the  exception  of 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN.  211 

**  our  fat  friend’s  ” agony,  which  Rnsselton  enjoyed  most 
luxuriously.  The  threatened  mutton-chops  did  not  make 
their  appearance,  and  the  dinner,  though  rather  too  small, 
was  excellently  cooked,  and  better  arranged.  With  the 
dessert,  the  poor  baronet  rose,  and  pleading  sudden  indis- 
position, tottered  out  of  the  door. 

When  he  was  gone,  Russelton  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and  laughed  for  several  minutes  with  a low  chuckling 
sound,  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheek. 

After  a few  jests  at  Sir  Willougliby,  our  conversation 
turned  upon  other  individuals.  I soon  saw  that  Russelton 
was  a soured  and  disappointed  man  : his  remarks  on  people 
were  all  sarcasms  — his  mind  was  overflowed  with  a suf- 
fusion of  ill-nature — he  bit  as  well  as  growled.  No  man  of 
the  world  ever,  I am  convinced,  becomes  a real  philosopher 
in  retirement.  People  who  have  been  employed  for  years 
upon  trifles  have  not  the  greatness  of  mind  which  could 
alone  make  them  indifferent  to  what  they  have  coveted 
all  their  lives,  as  most  enviable  and  important. 

“ Have  you  read ’s  memoirs  ? said  Mr.  Russelton. 

^^No!  Well,  I imagined  every  one  had  at  least  dipped 
into  them.  I have  often  had  serious  thoughts  of  dignifying 
my  own  retirement,  by  the  literary  employment  of  detailing 
my  adventures  in  the  world.  I think  I could  throw  a new 
light  upon  things  and  persons,  which  my  contemporaries 
will  shrink  back  like  owls  at  perceiving.’’ 

‘‘Your  life,”  said  I,  “must  indeed  furnish  matter  of 
equal  instruction  and  amusement.” 

“ Ay,”  answered  Russelton  : “ amusement  to  the  fools, 


^12  PELHAM;  OR, 

but  instruction  to  the  knaves.  I am,  indeed,  a lamentable 
t^xample  to  the  fall  of  ambition.  I brought  starch  into  all 
the  neckcloths  in  England,  and  I end  by  tying  my  own 
at  a three-inch  looking-glass  at  Calais.  You  are  a young 
man,  Mr.  Pelham,  about  to  commence  life,  probably  with 
the  same  views  as  (though  greater  advantages  than)  my- 
self; perhaps,  in  indulging  my  egotism,  I shall  not  weary 
without  recompensing  you. 

“ 1 came  into  the  world  with  an  inordinate  love  of  glory, 
and  a great  admiration  of  the  original ; these  propensities 
might  have  made  me  a Shakspeare  — they  did  more,  they 
made  me  a Russelton  ! When  I was  six  years  old,  I cut 
my  jacket  into  a coat,  and  turned  my  aunt’s  best  petticoat 
into  a waistcoat.  I disdained  at  eight  the  language  of  the 
vulgar,  and  when  my  father  asked  me  to  fetch  his  slippers, 
I replied,  that  my  soul  swelled  beyond  the  limits  of  a lack- 
ey’s. At  nine,  I was  self-inoculated  with  propriety  of  ideas. 
I rejected  malt  with  the  air  of  His  Majesty,  and  formed  a 
violent  affection  for  maraschino ; though  starving  at  school, 
I never  took  twice  of  pudding,  and  paid  sixpence  a week 
out  of  my  shilling  to  have  my  shoes  blacked.  As  I grew 
up,  my  notions  expanded.  I gave  myself,  without  restraint, 
to  the  ambition  that  burnt  within  me — I cut  my  old  friends, 
who  were  rather  envious  than  emulous  of  my  genius,  and 
I employed  three  tradesmen  to  make  my  gloves  — one  for 
the  hand,  a second  for  the  fingers,  and  a third  for  the 
thumb  ! These  two  qualities  made  me  courted  and  admired 
by  a new  race  — for  the  great  secrets  of  being  courted  are 
to  shun  others,  and  seem  delighted  with  yourself.  The 


Al^VENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


213 


latter  is  obvious  enough  ; who  the  deuce  should  be  pleased 
with  you,  if  you  are  not  pleased  with  yourself? 

Before  I left  college  I fell  in  love.  Other  fellows,  al 
my  age,  in  such  a predicament,  would  have  whined  — 
shaved  only  twice  a week,  and  written  verses.  I did  none 
of  the  three  — the  last  indeed  I tried,  but,  to  my  infinite 
surprise,  I found  my  genius  was  not  universal.  I began 
with 

‘ Sweet  nymph,  for  whom  I wake  my  muse.^ 

For  this,  after  considerable  hammering,  I could  only 
think  of  the  rhyme  ^ shoes  ^ — so  I began  again, — 

‘Thy  praise  demands  much  softer  lutes.’ 

And  the  fellow  of  this  verse  terminated  like  myself  in 
* boots.’ — Other  efforts  were  equally  successfiil  — ‘ bloom  ^ 
suggested  to  my  imagination  no  rhyme  but  ‘ perfume  ! ’ — 
‘ despair  ’ only  reminded  me  of  my  ‘ hair,’ — and  Miope’ 
was  met,  at  the  end  of  the  second  verse,  by  the  inharmonious 
antithesis  of  'soap.-  Finding,  therefore,  that  my  forte 
was  not  in  the  Pierian  line,  1 redoubled  my  attention  to 
my  dress  ; I coated  and  cracalted  with  all  the  attention 
the  very  inspiration  of  my  rhymes  seemed  to  advise  ; — in 
short,  I thought  the  best  pledge  I could  give  my  Dulcinea 
of  my  passion  for  her  person,  would  be  to  show  her  what 
affectionate  veneration  I could  pay  to  my  own. 

" My  mistress  could  not  withhold  from  me  her  admira- 
tion, but  she  denied  me  her  love.  She  confessed  Mr. 
Kusselton  was  the  best-dressed  man  at  the  University,  and 
had  the  whitest  hands  ; and  two  days  after  this  avowal, 


2U 


PELHAM;  OR, 

she  ran  away  with  a great  rosy-cheeked  extract  from 
Leicestershire. 

did  not  blame  her  : I pitied  her  too  much  — but  I 
made  a vow  never  to  be  in  love  again.  In  spite  of  all 
advantages  I kept  my  oath,  and  avenged  myself  on  the 
species  for  the  insult  of  the  individual. 

^‘Before  I commenced  a part  which  was  to  continue 
through  life,  I considered  deeply  on  the  humors  of  the 
spectators.  I saw  that  the  character  of  the  more  fashion- 
able of  the  English  was  servile  to  rank,  and  yielding  to 
pretension  — they  admire  you  for  your  acquaintance,  and 
cringe  to  you  for  your  conceit.  The  first  thing,  therefore, 
was  to  know  great  people  — the  second  to  control  them. 
I dressed  well,  and  had  good  horses  — that  was  sufficient 
to  make  me  sought  by  the  young  of  my  own  sex.  I talked 
scandal,  and  was  never  abashed — that  was  more  than 
enough  to  make  me  admired  among  the  matrons  of  the 
other.  It  is  single  men,  and  married  women,  to  whom 
are  given  the  St.  Peter’s  keys  of  Society.  I was  soon 
admitted  into  its  heaven  — I was  more  — I was  one  of  its 
saints.  I became  imitated  as  well  as  initiated.  I was  the 
rage  — the  lion.  Why?  — was  I better  — was  I richer 

— was  I handsomer  — was  I cleverer,  than  my  kind  ? No, 
no  ; — (and  here  Russelton  ground  his  teeth  with  a strong 
and  wrathful  expression  of  scorn)  ; — and  had  I been  all 

— had  I been  a very  concentration  and  monopoly  of  all 
human  perfections,  they  would  not  have  valued  me  at  half 
the  price  they  did  set  on  me.  It  was  — I will  tell  you  the 
simple  secret,  Mr.  Pelham  — it  was  because  I trampled  on 


adventuiies  of  a gentleman,  215 

them,  that,  like  crushed  herbs,  they  sent  up  a grateful 
incense  in  return. 

Oh  1 it  was  balm  to  my  bitter  and  loathing  temper,  to 
see  those  who  would  have  spurned  me  from  them,  if  they 
dared,  writhe  beneath  my  lash,  as  I withheld  or  inflicted 
it  at  will.  I was  the  magician  who  held  the  great  spirits 
that  longed  to  tear  me  to  pieces,  by  one  simple  spell  which 
a superior  hardihood  had  won  me  — and,  by  Heaven,  I 
did  not  spare  to  exert  it. 

Well,  well,  this  is  but  an  idle  recollection  now  ; all 
human  power,  says  the  proverb  of  every  language,  is  but 
of  short  duration.  Alexander  did  not  conquer  kingdoms 
for  ever  ; and  Russeltoii’s  good  fortune  deserted  him  at 
last.  Napoleon  died  in  exile,  and  so  shall  I ; but  we  have 
both  had  our  day,  and  mine  was  the  brightest  of  the  two, 
for  it  had  no  change  till  the  evening.  I am  more  happy 
than  people  would  think  for  — Je  ne  auis  pas  souvent  ou 
mon  corps  est  — I live  in  a world  of  recollections,  I trample 
again  upon  coronets  and  ermine,  the  glories  of  the  small 
great ! I give  once  more  laws  which  no*  libertine  is  so 
hardy  as  not  to  feel  exalted  in  adopting ; I hold  my  court 
and  issue  my  fiats  ; I am  like  the  madman,  and  out  of  the 
very  straws  of  my  cell,  I make  my  subjects  and  my  realm  ; 
and  when  I wake  from  these  bright  visions,  and  see  myself 
an  old,  deserted  man,  forgotten,  and  decaying  inch  by  inch 
in  a foreign  village,  I can  at  least  summon  sufficient  of 
my  ancient  regality  of  spirit  not  to  sink  beneath  the  reverse. 
If  I am  inclined  to  be  melancholy,  why,  I extinguish  my 
fire,  and  imagine  I have  demolished  a duchess.  I steal 


216 


PELHAM;  OR, 


up  to  my  solitary  chamber,  to  renew  again,  in  my  sleep^ 
tlie  phantoms  of  my  youth  ; to  carouse  with  princes  ; to 
legislate  for  nobles;  and  to  wake  in  the  morning  (here 
Kusselton’s  countenance  and  manner  suddenly  changed  to 
an  affectation  of  methodistieal  gravity),  and  thank  Heaven 
that  I have  still  a coat  to  my  stomach,  as  w^ell  as  to  my 
back,  and  that  I am  safely  delivered  of  such  villanous 
company  ; ^to  forsw^ear  sack  and  live  cleanly,’  during  the 
rest  of  my  sublunary  existence.” 

After  this  long  detail  of  Mr.  Russelton’s,  the  conversation 
was  but  dull  and  broken.  I could  not  avoid  indulging  a 
reverie  upon  what  I had  heard,  and  my  host  was  evidently 
still  revolving  the  recollections  his  narration  had  conjured 
up;  we  sat  opposite  each  other  for  several  minutes,  as 
abstracted  and  distracted  as  if  we  had  been  a couple  two 
months  married  ; till  at  last  I rose,  and  tendered  my  adieus. 
Russelton  received  them  with  his  usual  coldness,  but  more 
than  his  usual  civility,  for  he  follo.wed  me  to  the  door. 

Just  as  they  w^ere  about  to  shut  it,  he  called  me  back. 
^^Mr.  Pelham,”  said  he,  “Mr.  Pelham,  when  you  come 
back  this  way,  do  look  in  upon  me,  and  — and  as  you  will 
be  going  a good  deal  into  society,  find  out  what  people 
say  of  my  manner  of  lifeP'^^ 

* It  will  be  perceived  by  those  readers  who  are  kind  or  patient 
enough  to  reach  the  conclusion  of  this  work,  that  Russelton  is  speci- 
fied as  one  of  rny  few  di-ainatis  personae  of  which  only  the  first  outline 
is  taken  from  real  life,  and  from  a very  noted  personage;  all  the 
re^^t  — all,  indeed,  which  forms  and  marks  the  character  thus  briedy 
delineated,  is  drawn  solely  from  imagination. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  211 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

An  old  worshipful  geiitleniari,  that  had  a great  estate. 

And  kept  a brave  old  house  at  a hospitable  rate. 

Old  Song. 

I THINK  I may,  without  much  loss  to  the  reader,  pass  iu 
silence  over  my  voyage,  the  next  day,  to  Dover.  (Horrible 
reminiscence  !)  I may  also  spare  him  an  exact  detail  of 
all  the  inns  and  impositions  between  that  sea-port  and 
London  ; nor  will  it  be  absolutely  necessary  to  the  plot  of 
this  history,  to  linger  over  every  mile-stone  between  the 
metropolis  and  Glenmorris  Castle,  where  my  uncle  and  my 
mother  were  impatiently  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  can- 
didate to  be. 

It  was  a fine  bright  evening  when  my  carriage  entered 
the  park.  I had  not  seen  the  place  for  years  ; and  I felt 
my  heart  swell  with  something  like  family  pride,  as  I gazed 
on  the  magnificent  extent  of  hill  and  plain  that  opened 
upon  me,  as  I passed  the  ancient  and  ivy-covered  lodge. 
Large  groups  of  trees,  scattered  on  either  side,  seemed,  in 
their  own  antiquity,  the  witness  of  that  of  the  family  which 
had  given  them  existence.  The  sun  set  on  the  waters 
which  lay  gathered  in  a lake  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  breaking 
the  waves  into  unnumbered  sapphires,  and  tinging  the  dark 
firs  that  overspread  the  margin,  with  a rich  and  golden 
light,  that  put  me  excessively  in  mind  of  the  Duke  ot 
— ’s  livery  ! 

L — 19 


218 


PELHAM;  OR, 


When  I descended  at  the  gate,  the  servants,  who  stood 
arranged  in  an  order  so  long  that  it  almost  startled  me, 
received  me  with  a visible  gladness  and  animation,  which 
showed  me,  at  one  glance,  the  old-fashioned  tastes  of  their 
master.  Who,  in  these  days,  ever  inspires  his  servants 
with  a single  sentiment  of  regard  or  interest  for  himself 
or  his  whole  race  ? That  tribe  one  never,  indeed,  considers 
as  possessing  a life  separate  from  their  services  to  us  : 
beyond  that  purpose  of  existence,  we  know  not  even  if  they 
exist.  As  Providence  made  the  stars  for  the  benefit  of 
earth,  so  it  made  servants  for  the  use  of  gentlemen  ; and, 
as  neither  stars  nor  servants  appear  except  when  we  want 
them,  so  I suppose  they  are  in  a sort  of  suspense  from 
heing^  except  at  those  important  and  happy  moments. 

To  return  — for  if  I have  any  fault,  it  is  too  great  a love 
for  abstruse  speculation  and  reflection  — I was  formally 
ushered  through  a great  hall,  hung  round  with  huge  antlers 
and  rusty  armor,  through  a lesser  one,  supported  by  large 
stone  columns,  and  without  any  other  adornment  than  the 
arms  of  the  family  ; then  through  an  ante-room,  covered 
wdth  tapestry,  representing  the  gallaii tries  of  King  Solomon 
to  the  Queen  of  Sheba  ; and  lastly,  into  the  apartment 
honored  by  the  august  presence  of  Lord  Glenmorris. 
That  personage  was  dividing  the  sofa  with  three  spaniels 
and  a setter  ; he  rose  hastily  when  I was  announced,  and 
then  checking  the  first  impulse  which  hurried  him,  perhaps, 
into  an  unseemly  warmth  of  salutation,  held  out  his  hand 
with  a stately  air  of  kindly  protection,  and  while  he  pressed 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  219 

mine,  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot,  to  see  how  far  my 
appearance  justified  his  condescension. 

Having,  at  last,  satisfied  himself,  he  proceeded  to  inquire 
after  the  state  of  my  appetite.  He  smiled  beiiignanlly 
when  I confessed  that  I was  excessively  well  prepared  to 
testify  its  capacities  (the  first  idea  of  all  kind-hearted, 
old-fashioned  people,  is  to  stuff  you),  and,  silently  motion- 
ing to  the  grey-headed  servant  who  stood  in  attendance, 
till,  receiving  the  expected  sign,  he  withdrew.  Lord  Glen- 
morris  informed  me  that  dinner  was  over  for  every  one 
but  myself,  that  for  me  it  would  be  prepared  in  an  instant, 
that  Mr.  Toolington  had  expired  four  days  since,  that  my 
mother  was,  at  that  moment,  canvassing  for  me,  and  that 
my  own  electioneering  qualities  were  to  open  their  exhi- 
bition with  the  following  day. 

After  this  communication  there  was  a short  pause, 
**  What  a beautiful  place  this  is  ! ’’  said  I,  with  great 
enthusiasm.  Lord  Glenmorris  was  pleased  with  the  com- 
pliment, simple  as  it  was. 

“Yes,”  said  he,  “it  is,  and  I have  made  it  still  more 
so  than  you  have  yet  been  able  to  perceive.” 

“You  have  been  planting,  probably,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  park  ? ” 

“ No,”  said  my  uncle,  smiling  ; “ Nature  had  done  every 
thing  for  this  spot  when  I came  to  it,  but  one  ; and  the 
addition  of  that  one  ornament  is  the  only  real  triumph 
which  art  ever  can  achieve.” 

“What  is  it  ?”  asked  I;  “oh,  I know  — water.” 

“You  are  mistaken,”  answered  Lord  Glenmorris ; “it 
Ig  the  ornament  of — happy  faces.^^ 


220 


P r.  L H A M ; OR, 


T looked  up  to  my  uncle’s  countenance  In  sudden  surprise. 

I cannot  explain  how  I was  struck  with  the  expression 
which  it  wore  : so  calmly  bright  and  open  ! — it  was  as  if 
the  very  daylight  had  settled  there. 

“ You  don’t  understand  this  at  present,  Henry,”  said  he, 
after  a moment’s  silence  ; “ but  you  will  find  it,  of  all  rules 
for  the  improvement  of  property,  the  easiest  to  learn. 
Enough  of  this  now.  Were  you  not  in  despair  at  leaving 
Paris  ? ” 

“ I should  have  been,  some  months  ago  ; but  when  I 
received  my  mother’s  summons,  I found  the  temptations 
of  the  continent  very  light  in  comparison  with  those  held 
out  to  me  here.” 

What,  have  you  already  arrived  at  that  great  epoch, 
when  vanity  casts  off  its  skin,  and  ambition  succeeds 
to  pleasure?  Why  — but  thank  Heaven  that  you  have 
lost  my  moral  — your  dinner  is  announced.” 

Most  devoutly  did  I thank  Heaven,  and  most  earnestly 
did  I betake  myself  to  do  honor  to  my  uncle’s  hospitality. 

I had  just  finished  my  repast,  when  my  mother  entered. 
She  was,  as  you  might  well  expect  from  her  maternal  affec- 
tion, quite  overpowered  with  joy,  at  finding  my  hair 
ffrown  so  much  darker,  and,  secondly,  at  my  looking  so 
well.  We  spent  the  whole  evening  in  discussing  the  great 
business  for  which  I had  been  summoned.  Lord  Glenmorris 
promised  me  money,  and  my  mother  advice  ; and  I,  in  my 
turn,  enchanted  them,  by  promising  to  make  the  best  use 
of  both. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


001 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Cor.  Your  good  voice,  sir  — what  say  you! 

2,nd  Cit.  You  shall  have  it,  worthy  sir. — Coriolanus. 

The  borough  of  Buyemall  had  long  been  in  undisputed 
possession  of  the  Lords  of  Glenraorrris,  till  a rich  banker, 
of  the  name  of  Lufton,  had  bouglit  a large  estate  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  of  Glenmorris  Castle.  This  event, 
which  was  the  precursor  of  a mighty  revolution  in  the 
borough  of  Buyemall,  took  place  in  the  first  year  of  my 
uncle’s  accession  to  his  property.  A few  months  afterwards, 
a vacancy  in  the  borough  occurring,  ray  uncle  procured 
the  nomination  of  one  of  his  own  political  party.  To  the 
great  astonishment  of  Lord  Glenmorris,  and  the  great 
gratification  of  the  burghers  of  Buyemall,  Mr.  Lufton 
offered  himself  in  opposition  to  the  Glenmorris  candidate. 
In  this  age  of  enlightenment,  innovation  has  no  respect 
for  the  most  sacred  institutions  of  antiquity.  The  burghers, 
for  the  only  time  since  their  creation  as  a body,  were  cast 
first  into  doubt,  and  secondly  into  rebellion.  The  Lufton 
faction,  horresco  refere/nSj  were  triumphant,  and  the  rival 
candidate  was  returned.  From  that  hour,  the  Borough 
of  Buyemall  was  open  to  all  the  world. 

My  uncle,  who  was  a good  easy  man,  and  had  some 
strange  notions  of  free  representation,  and  liberty  of  elec- 
tion, professed  to  care  very  little  for  this  event.  He  con- 
19  * 


22% 


PELHAM;  OR, 


tented  himself,  henceforward,  with  exerting  his  interest  for 
one  of  the  members,  and  left  the  other  seat  entirely  at  the 
disposal  of  the  line  of  Lufton,  which,  from  the  time  of  the 
first  competition,  continued  peaceably  to  monopolize  it. 

During  the  last  two  years,  my  uncle’s  candidate,  the  late 
Mr.  Toolington,  had  been  gradually  dying  of  a dropsy^ 
and  the  Luftons  had  been  so  particularly  attentive  to  the 
honest  burghers,  that  it  was  shrewdly  suspected  a bold 
push  was  to  be  made  for  the  other  seat.  During  the  last 
month  these  doubts  were  changed  into  certainty.  Mr. 
Augustus  Leopold  Lufton,  eldest  son  to  Benjamin  Lufton, 
Esq.,  had  publicly  declared  his  intention  of  starting  at  the 
decease  of  Mr.  Toolington  ; against  this  personage  behold 
myself  armed  and  arrayed. 

Such  IS,  in  brief,  the  history  of  the  borough,  up  to  the 
time  in  which  I was  to  take  a prominent  share  in  its 
interests  and  events. 

On  the  second  day  after  my  arrival  at  the  castle,  the 
following  advertisement  appeared  at  Buyemall  : — 

the  Independent  Electors  of  the  Borough  of 
Buy  email. 

Gentlemen, 

“ In  presenting  myself  to  your  notice,  I advance  a claim 
not  altogether  new  and  unfounded.  My  family  have  for 
centuries  been  residing  amongst  you,  and  exercising  that 
interest  which  reciprocal  confidence,  and  good  offices,  may 
fairly  create.  Should  it  be  my  good  fortune  to  be  chosen 
your  representative,  you  may  rely  upon  my  utmost  en- 
deavors to  deserve  that  honor.  One  word  upon  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


223 


principles  I espouse  : they  are  those  which  have  found 
their  advocates  among  the  wisest  and  the  best : they  are 
those  which,  hostile  alike  to  the  encroachments  of  the 
crown,  and  the  licentiousness  of  the  people,  would  support 
the  real  interests  of  both.  Upon  these  grounds,  gentlemen, 
I have  the  honor  to  solicit  your  votes ; and  it  is  with  the 
sincerest  respect  for  your  ancient  and  honorable  body,  that 
I subscribe  myself  your  very  obedient  servant, 

“ Henry  Pelham.’’ 

Glenmorris  Castle,”  &c.  &c. 

Such  was  the  first  public  signification  of  my  intentions  ; 
It  was  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Sharpon,  our  lawyer,  and  con- 
sidered by  our  friends  as  a masterpiece  : for,  as  my  mother 
sagely  observed,  it  did  not  commit  me  in  a single  instance 
— espoused  no  principle,  and  yet  professed  principles  which 
all  parties  would  allow  were  the  best. 

At  the  first  house  where  I called,  the  proprietor  was  a 
clergyman  of  good  family,  who  had  married  a lady  from 
Baker-street : of  course  the  Reverend  Combermere  St. 
Quintin  and  his  wife  valued  themselves  upon  being  '' gen- 
teel.'^  I arrived  at  an  unlucky  moment;  on  entering  the 
hall,  a dirty  footboy  was  carrying  a yellow-ware  dish  of 
potatoes  into  the  back  room.  Another  Ganymede  (a  sort 
of  foDtboy-major),  who  opened  the  door,  and  who  was  still 
^'settling  himself  into  his  coat,  which  he  had  slipped  on  at 
my  tintinnabulary  summons,  ushered  me  with  a mouth  full 
of  bread  and  cheese  into  this  said  back  room.  I gave  up 
everything  as  lost,  when  I entered,  and  saw  the  lady 


224 


PELHAM;  OR, 


helping  her  youngest  child  to  some  ineffable  tiash,  which 
I have  since  heard  is  called  “blackberry  pudding/’ 
Another  of  the  tribe  was  bawling  out,  with  a loud,  hungry 
tone — “A  tatoe,  pa  1”  The  father  himself  was  carving 
for  the  little  group,  with  a napkin  stuffed  into  the  top 
button-hple  of  his  waistcoat ; and  the  mother,  with  a long 
bib,  plentifully  bespattered  with  congealing  gravy,  and 
the  nectarian  liquor  of  the  “ blackberry  pudding,”  was 
sitting,  with  a sort  of  presiding  complacency,  on  a high 
stool,  like  Juno  on  Olympus,  enjoying  rather  than  stilling 
the  confused  hubbub  of  the  little  domestic  deities,  who  ate, 
clattered,  spattered,  and  squabbled  around  her. 

Amidst  all  this  din  and  confusion,  the  candidate  for  the 
borough  uf  Buyemall  was  ushered  into  the  household 
privacy  of  the  genteel  Mr.  and  Mrs.  St.  Quintin.  Up 
started  the  lady  at  the  sound  of  my  name.  The  Rev. 
Combermere  St.  Quintin  seemed  frozen  into  stone.  The 
plate  between  the  youngest  child  and  the  blackberry 
pudding  stood  as  still  as  the  sun  in  Ajalon.  The  morsel 
between  the  mouth  of  the  elder  boy  and  his  fork  had  a 
respite  from  mastication.  The  Seven  Sleepers  cculd  not 
have  been  spell-bound  more  suddenly  and  completely. 

“ Ah,”  cried  I,  advancing  eagerly,  with  an  air  of  serious 
and  yet  abrupt  gladness ; “ how  lucky  that  I should  find 
you  all  at  luncheon.  I was  up  and  had  finished  breakfast 
so  early  this  morning  that  I am  half  famished.  Only  think 
how  fortunate.  Hardy,  (turning  round  to  one  of  the  mem- 
bers of  my  committee,  who  accompanied  me)  ; I was  just 
saying  what  would  I not  give  to  find  Mr.  St.  Quintin  at 


ADVENTURES  OF  AGENTLEMAN.  225 

luncheon.  Will  you  allow  me,  Madam,  to  make  one  of 
your  party  ? 

Mrs.  St.  Quintin  colored  and  faltered,  and  muttered 
out  something  which  I was  fully  resolved  not  to  hear.  I 
took  a chair,  looked  round  the  table,  not  too  attentively, 
and  said  — “ Cold  veal ; ah  ! ah  ! nothing  I like  so  much. 
May  I trouble  you,  Mr.  St.  Quintin?  — Hollo,  my  little 
man,  let’s  see  if  you  can’t  give  me  a potato.  There’s  a 
brave  fellow.  How  old  are  you,  my  young  hero?  — to 
look  at  your  mother,  I should  say  two,  to  look  at  you,  six.” 

‘‘He  is  four  next  May,”  said  his  mother,  coloring,  and 
this  time  not  painfully. 

“ Indeed  ? ” said  I,  surveying  him  earnestly ; and  then, 
in  a graver  tone,  I turned  to  the  Rev.  Combermere  with 
— I think  you  have  a branch  of  your  family  still  settled 
in  France.  I met  a St.  Quintin  (the  Due  de  Poictiers) 
abroad.” 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Combermere,  “yes,  the  name  is  still 
in  Normandy,  but  I was  not  aware  of  the  title.” 

“ No  ! ” said  I,  with  surprise  ; “ and  yet  (with  another 
look  at  the  boy),  it  is  astonishing  how  long  family  like- 
nesses last.  I was  a great  favorite  with  all  the  Due’s 
children.  Do  you  know,  I must  trouble  you  for  some  more 
veal,  it  is  so  very  good,  and  I am  so  very  hungry.” 

“ How  long  have  you  been  abroad  ? ” said  Mrs.  St. 
Quintin,  who  had  slipped  off  her  bib,  and  smoothed  her 
ringlets  ; for  which  purposes  I had  been  most  adroitly 
looking  in  an  opposite  direction  the  last  three  minutes. 

“About  seven  or  eight  months.  The  fact  is,  that  the 

p 


226 


PELHAM;  OR, 


continent  only  does  for  us  English  poeple  to  see  — not  to 
inhabit ; and  yet,  there  are  some  advantages  there,  Mr. 
St.  Quintin  ! — among  others,  that  of  the  due  respect  an- 
cient birth  is  held  in.  Here,  you  know,  ^ money  makes 
the  man,’  as  the  vulgar  proverb  has  it  ? ” 

Yes,”  said  Mr.  St.  Quintin,  with  a sigh,  it  is  really 
dreadful  to  see  those  upstarts  rising  around  us,  and  throw- 
ing every  thing  that  is  respectable  and  ancient  into  the 
back  ground.  Dangerous  times  these,  Mr.  Pelham  — 
dangerous  times ; nothing  but  innovation  upon  the  most 
sacred  institutions.  I am  sure,  Mr.  Pelham,  that  your 
principles  must  be  decidedly  against  these  new-fashioned 
doctrines,  which  lead  to  nothing  but  anarchy  and  confusion 
— absolutely  nothing.” 

^‘I’m  delighted  to  find  you  so  much  of  my  opinion  !” 
said  I.  I cannot  endure  anything  that  leads  to  anarchy 
and  confusion^ 

Here  Mr.  Combermere  glanced  at  his  wife, — who  rose, 
called  to  the  children,  and,  accompanied  by  them,  grace- 
fully withdrew. 

^‘Now  then,”  said  Mr.  Combermere,  drawing  his  chair 
nearer  to  me, — “ now,  Mr.  Pelham,  we  can  discuss  these 
matters.  Women  are  no  politicians,” — and  at  this  sage 
aphorism,  the  Rev.  Combermere  laughed  a low  solemn 
laugh,  which  could  have  come  from  no  other  lips.  After 
I had  joined  in  this  grave  merriment  for  a second  or  two, 
I hemmed  thrice,  and  with  a countenance  suUed  to  the 
subject  and  the  host,  plunged  at  once  in  medias  res, 

‘'Mr.  St.  Quintin,”  said  I,  “you  are  already  aware,  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  227 

think,  of  my  intention  of  offering  myself  as  a candidate 
for  the  borough  of  Buyemall.  I could  not  think  of  such  a 
measure,  without  calling  upon  you,  the  very,  first  person, 
to  solicit  the  honor  of  your  vote.”  Mr.  Combermere 
looked  pleased,  and  prepared  to  reply.  “ You  are  the 
very  first  person  I called  upon,”  repeated  I. 

Mr.  Combermere  smiled.  *^Well,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said 
he,  “ our  families  have  long  been  on  the  most  intimate 
footing.” 

Ever  since,”  cried  I,  ever  since  Henry  the  Seventh’s 
time,  have  the  houses  of  St.  Quintin  and  Glenmorris  been 
allied  I Your  ancestors,  you  know,  were  settled  in  the 
county  before  our’s,  and  my  mother  assures  me  that  she 
has  read,  in  some  old  book  or  another,  a long  account  of 
your  forefather’s  kind  reception  of  mine  at  the  castle  of 
St.  Quintin.  I do  trust,  sir,  that  we  have  done  nothing  to 
forfeit  a support  so  long  afforded  us.” 

Mr.  St.  Quintin  bowed  in  speechless  gratification  ; at 
length  he  found  voice.  ‘^But  your  principles,  Mr.  Pel- 
ham ? ” 

Quite  your’s,  my  dear  sir : quite  against  anarchy  and 
confusiond^ 

^'But  the  Catholic  question,  Mr.  Pelham  ?” 

Oh  ! the  Catholic  question,”  repeated  I,  is  a question 
of  great  importance;  it  won’t  be  carried  — no,  Mr.  St. 
Quintin,  no,  it  won’t  be  carried  ; how  did  you  think,  my 
dear  sir.  that  I could,  in  so  great  a question,  act  against 
my  conscience  ’ ” 

I said  this  with  warmth,  and  Mr.  St.  Quintin  was  either 


228 


PELHAM;  OR, 


too  convinced  or  too  timid  to  pursue  so  dangerous  a topic 
any  further.  I blessed  my  stars  when  he  paused,  and,  not 
giving  him  time  to  think  of  another  piece  of  debatable 
ground,  continued, — “ Yes,  Mr.  St.  Quintin,  I called  upon 
you  the  very  first  person.  Your  rank  in  th.e  county,  your 
ancient  birth,  to  be  sure,  demanded  it ; but  I only  con- 
sidered the  long,  long  time  the  St.  Quintins  and  Pelhams 
had  been  connected.’’ 

“Well,”  said  the  Rev.  Combermere,  “ well,  Mr.  Pelham, 
you  shall  have  my  support;  and  I wish,  from  my  very 
heart,  all  success  to  a young  gentleman  of  such  excellent 
principles.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVI.  ' 

More  voices ! 

****** 

Sic.  How  now,  my  masters,  have  you  chosen  him? 

Cit,  He  has  our  voices,  sir! — Coriolanus. 

From  Mr.  Combermere  St.  Quintin’s  we  went  to  a bluff, 
hearty,  radical  wine-merchant,  whom  I had  very  little 
probability  of  gaining;  but  my  success  with  the  clerical 
Armado  had  inspirited  me,  and  I did  not  suffer  myself  to 
fear,  though  I could  scarcely  persuade  myself  to  hope. 
How  exceedingly  impossible  it  is,  in  governing  men,  to 
lay  dowm  positive  rules,  even  where  w^e  know  the  temper 
of  the  individual  to  be  gained  I “You  must  be  very  stiff 


adventures  of  a gentleman.  220 

and  formal  with  the  St.  Quintins/’  said  my  mother.  She 
was  right  in  the  general  admonition,  and  had  I found  them 
all  seated  in  the  best  drawing-room,  Mrs.  St.  Quintin  in 
her  best  attire,  and  the  children  on  their  best  behavior, 
I should  have  been  as  stately  as  Don  Quixote  in  a brocade 
dressing-gown  ; but  finding  them  in  such  dishabille,  I 
could  not  affect  too  great  a plainness  and  almost  coarseness 
of  bearing,  as  if  I had  never  been  accustomed  to  anything 
more  refined  than  I found  there  ; nor  might  I,  by  any 
appearance  of  pride  in  myself,  put  them  in  mind  of  the 
wound  their  own  pride  had  received.  The  difficulty  was 
to  blend  with  this  familiarity  a certain  respect,  just  the 
same  as  a French  ambassador  might  have  testified  towards 
the  august  person  of  George  the  Third,  had  he  found  his 
Majesty  at  dinner  at  one  o’clock,  over  mutton  and  turnips. 

In  overcoming  this  difficulty,  I congratulated  myself 
with  as  much  zeal  and  fervor  as  if  I had  performed  the 
most  important  victory  ; for,  whether  it  be  innocent  or 
sanguinary,  in  war  or  at  an  election,  there  is  no  triumph 
so  gratifying  to  the  viciousness  of  human  nature,  as  the 
conquest  of  our  fellow  beings. 

But  I must  return  to  my  wine-merchant,  Mr.  Briggs. 
His  house  was  at  the  entrance  of  the  town  of  Buyemall  ; 
it  stood  enclosed  in  a snail  garden,  flaming  with  crocuses 
and  sunflowers,  and  exhibiting  an  arbor  to  the  right,  where, 
in  the  summer  evenings,  the  respectable  owner  might  be 
seen,  with  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  in  order  to  give  that 
just  and  rational  liberty  to  the  subordinate  parts  of  the 
human  commonwealth  which  the  increase  of  their  conse- 
I.— 20 


230 


PELHAM;  OR, 


quence,  after  the  hour  of  dinner,  naturally  demands.  Nor, 
in  those  moments  of  dignified  ease,  was  the  worthy  burgher 
without  the  divine  inspirations  of  complacent  contem- 
plation which  the  weed  of  Virginia  bestoweth.  There, 
as  he  smoked  and  puffed,  and  looked  out  upon  the  bright 
crocuses,  and  meditated  over  the  dim  recollections  of  the 
hesternal  journal,  did  Mr.  Briggs  revolve  in  his  mind  the 
vast  importance  of  the  borough  of  Buyemall  to  the  British 
empire,  and  the  vast  importance  of  John  Briggs  to  the 
borough  of  Buyemall. 

When  I knocked  at  the  door  a prettyish  maid-servant 
opened  it  with  a smile,  and  a glance  which  the  vendor  of 
wine  might  probably  have  taught  her  himself  after  too 
large  potations  of  his  own  spirituous  manufactures.  I was 
ushered  into  a small  parlor  — where  sat,  sipping  brandy 
and  water,  a short,  stout,  monosyllabic  sort  of  figure, 
corresponding  in  outward  shape  to  the  name  of  Briggs 
— even  unto  a very  nicety. 

‘^Mr.  Pelham,’^  said  this  gentleman,  who  was  dressed 
in  a brown  coat,  white  waistcoat,  buff-colored  inex- 
pressibles, wdth  long  strings,  and  gaiters  of  the  same  hue 
and  substance  as  the  breeches  — Mr.  Pelham,  pray  be 
seated  — excuse  my  rising,  I ^m  like  the  bishop  in  the  story, 
Mr.  Pelham,  too  old  to  rise  ; ” and  Mr.  Briggs  grunted 
out  a short,  quick,  querulous,  “he  — he  — he,”  to  wdiich, 
of  course,  I replied  to  the  best  of  my  cachinnatory  powers. 

No  sooner,  how^ever,  did  I begin  to  laugh,  than  Mr. 
Briggs  stopped  short  — eyed  me  with  a sharp,  suspicious 
glance  — shook  his  head,  and  pushed  back  his  chair  at  least 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  231 

four  feet  from  the  spot  it  had  hitherto  occupied.  Ominous 
signs,  thought  I — I must  sound  this  gentleman  a little 
further,  before  I venture  to  treat  him  as  the  rest  of  his 
species. 

You  have  a nice  situation  here,  Mr.  Briggs,’^  said  I. 

Ah,  Mr.  Pelham,  and  a nice  vote  too,  which  is  some- 
what more  to  your  purpose,  I believe.’’ 

**  Why,”  said  I,  Mr.  Briggs,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I 
do  call  upon  you  for  the  purpose  of  requesting  your  vote  ; 
give  it  me,  or  not,  just  as  you  please.  You  may  be  sure 
I shall  not  make  use  of  the  vulgar  electioneering  arts  to 
coax  gentlemen  out  of  their  votes.  I ask  you  for  your’s  as 
one  freeman  solicits  another ; if  you  think  my  opponent  a 
fitter  person  to  represent  your  borough,  give  your  support 
to  him  in  Heaven’s  name  : if  not,  and  you  place  confidence 
in  me,  I will,  at  least,  endeavor  not  to  betray  it.” 

Well  done,  Mr.  Pelham,”  exclaimed  Mr.  Briggs  : ‘‘I 
love  candor  — you  speak  just  after  my  own  heart;  but 
you  must  be  aware  that  one  does  not  like  to  be  bamboozled 
out  of  one’s  right  of  election,  by  a smooth-tongued  fellow, 
who  sends  one  to  the  devil  the  moment  the  election  is  over 
— or  still  worse,  to  be  frightened  out  of  it  by  some  stiff- 
necked proud  coxcomb,  with  his  pedigree  in  his  hand,  and 
his  acres  in  his  face,  thinking  he  does  you  a marvellous 
honor  to  ask  you  at  all.  Sad  times  these  for  this  free 
country,  Mr.  Pelham,  when  a parcel  of  conceited  paupers, 
like  Parson  Quinny  (as  I call  that  reverend  fool,  Mr. 
Combermere  St.  Quintin),  imagine  they  have  a right  to 
dictate  to  warm,  honest  men,  who  can  buy  their  whole 


232 


PELHAM;  OR, 


family  out  and  out.  I tell  you  what,  Mr.  Pelham,  we  shall 
never  do  anything  for  this  country  till  we  get  rid  of  those 
landed  aristocrats,  with  their  ancestry  and  humbug.  I 
hope  you  ^re  of  my  mind,  Mr.  Pelham.’’ 

“Why,”  answered  I,  “there  is  certainly  nothing  so 
respectable  in  Great  Britain  as  our  commercial  interest. 
A man  who  makes  himself  is  worth  a thousand  men  made 
by  their  forefathers.” 

“Very  true,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  the  wine-merchant,  ad- 
vancing his  chair  to  me  ; and  then,  laying  a short,  thickset 
finger  upon  my  arm  — he  looked  up  in  my  face  with  an 
investigating  air,  and  said  : — “ Parliamentary  Reform  — 
what  do  you  say  to  that  ? you  ’re  not  an  advocate  for  an- 
cient abuses  and  modern  corruption,  I hope,  Mr. Pelham  ? ” 

“ By  no  means,”  cried  I,  with  an  honest  air  of  indignation 
— “I  have  a conscience,  Mr.  Briggs,  I have  a conscience 
as  a public  man,  no  less  than  as  a private  one  1 ” 

“ Admirable  I ” cried  my  host. 

“No,”  I continued,  glowing  as  I proceeded,  “no,  Mr 
Briggs ; I disdain  to  talk  too  much  about  my  principles 
before  they  are  tried ; the  proper  time  to  proclaim  them 
is  when  they  have  effected  some  good  by  being  put  into 
action.  I won’t  supplicate  your  vote,  Mr.  Briggs,  as  my 
opponent  may  do;  there  must  be  a mutual  confidence  be- 
tween my  supporters  and  myself.  When  I appear  before 
you  a second  time,  you  will  have  a right  to  see  hoiv  fa:  1 
have  wronged  that  trust  reposed  in  me  as  your  repre- 
sentative. Mr.  Briggs,  I dare  say  it  may  seem  rude  and 
impolitic  to  address  you  in  this  manner ; but  I am  a plain, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  233 

blunt  man,  and  I disdain  the  vulgar  arts  of  electioneering, 
Mr.  Briggs. ’’ 

'‘Give  us  your  fist,  sir,’’  cried  the  wine-merchant,  in  a 
transport;  “give  us  your  fist;  I promise  you  my  support, 
and  I am  delighted  to  vote  for  a young  gentleman  of  auch 
excellent  principles^ 

So  much,  dear  reader,  for  Mr.  Briggs,  who  became  from 
that  interview  my  staunchest  supporter.  I will  not  linger 
longer  upon  this  part  of  my  career  : the  above  conversations 
may  serve  as  a sufficient  sample  of  my  electioneering 
qualifications:  and  so  I shall  merely  add,  that  after  the 
due  quantum  of  dining,  drinking,  spouting,  lying,  equivo- 
cating, bribing,  rioting,  head-breaking,  promise-breaking, 
and — thank  the  god  Mercury,  who  presides  over  elections 
— chairing  of  successful  candidateship,  I found  myself 
fairly  chosen  member  for  the  borough  of  Buyemall ! * 


* It  is  fortunate  that  Mr.  Pelham’s  election  was  not  for  a rotten 
borough;  so  that  the  satire  of  this  chapter  is  not  yet  obsolete  nor 
unsalutary.  Parliamentary  Reform  has  not  terminated  the  tricks 
of  canvassing  — and  Mr.  Pelham’s  descriptions  are  as  applicable 
now  as  when  first  written.  All  personal  c mvassing  is  but  for  the 
convenience  of  cunning  — the  opportunity  for  manner  to  disguise 
principle.  Public  meetings,  in  which  expositions  of  opinion  must 
be  clear,  and  will  be  cross-examined,  are  the  only  legitimate  mode 
of  canvass.  The  English  begin  to  discover  this  truth ; may  the«9e 
scenes  serve  to  quicken  their  apprehension. — The  Author. 


20* 


234 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Political  e'lucation  is  like  the  keystone  to  the  arch  — the  strengtn 
of  the  whole  depends  upon  it.  — Encycl.  Britt.  Sup.  Art.  Education, 

1 WAS  sitting  in  the  library  of  Glenmorris  Castle,  about  a 
week  after  all  the  bustle  of  contest  and  the  eclat  of  victory 
had  begun  to  subside,  and  quietly  dallying  with  the  dry 
toast,  which  constituted  then,  and  does  to  this  day,  my 
ordinary  breakfast,  when  I was  accosted  by  the  following 
speech  from  my  uncle : — 

Henry,  your  success  has  opened  to  you  a new  career: 
I trust  you  intend  to  pursue  it?’^ 

Certainly,’^  Vvas  my  answer. 

‘‘But  you  know,  my  dear  Henry,  that  though  you  have 
great  talents,  which,  I confess,  I was  surprised  in  the 
course  of  the  election  to  discover,  yet  they  want  that  care- 
ful cultivation,  which,  in  order  to  shine  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  they  must  receive.  Entre  nous,  Henry ; a little 
reading  would  do  you  no  harm.’^ 

“Very  well,’^  said  I,  “suppose  I begin  with  Walter 
Scott’s  novels  ; I am  told  they  are  extremely  entertaining,” 
“True,”  answered  my  uncle,  “but  they  don’t  contain 
the  most  accurate  notions  of  history,  or  the  soundest  prin- 
ciples of  political  philosophy  in  the  world.  What  did  you 
think  of  doing  to-day,  Henry  ? ” 

“ Nothing ! ” said  I,  very  innocently. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  235 

I should  conceive  that  to  be  an  usual  answer  of  yours, 
Henry,  to  any  similar  question.^’ 

I think  it  is,’^  replied  I,  with  great  naivete. 

Well,  then,  let  us  have  the  breakfast  things  taken  away, 
and  do  something  this  morning.’^ 

Willingly,’^  said  I,  ringing  the  bell. 

The  table  was  cleared,  and  my  uncle  began  his  exami- 
nation. Little,  poor  man,  had  he  thought,  from  my  usual 
bearing,  and  the  character  of  my  education,  that  in  general 
literature  there  were  few  subjects  on  which  I was  not  to 
the  full  as  well  read  as  himself.  I enjoyed  his  surprise, 
when,  little  by  little,  he  began  to  discover  the  extent  of 
my  information  ; but  I was  mortified  to  find  it  was  only 
surprise,  not  delight. 

You  have,”  said  he,  a considerable  store  of  learning : 
far  more  than  I could  possibly  have  imagined  you  possess- 
ed ; but  it  is  knowledge,  not  learning,  in  which  I wish 
you  to  be  skilled.  I would  rather,  in  order  to  gift  you 
with  the  former,  that  you  were  more  destitute  of  the  latter. 
The  object  of  education  is  to  instil  principles  which  are 
hereafter  to  guide  and  instruct  us  ;yac^s  are  only  desirable, 
so  far  as  they  illustrate  those  principles  ; principles  ought 
therefore  to  precede  facts  ! What  then  can  we  think  of  a 
system  which  reverses  this  evident  order,  overloads  the 
memory  with  facts,  and  those  of  the  most  doubtful  descrip- 
tion, while  it  leaves  us  entirely  in  the  dark  with  regard  to 
the  principles  which  could  alone  render  this  heterogeneous 
mass  of  any  advantage  or  avail  ? Learning,  without 
knowledge,  is  but  a bundle  of  prejudices  ; a lumber  of  inert 


PELHAM;  OR, 


236 

^natter  set  before  the  threshold  of  the  understanding  to 
the  exclusion  of  common  sense.  Pause  for  a moment,  and 
recall  those  of  your  contemporaries  who  are  generally 
considered  well-informed  ; tell  me  if  their  information  has 
made  them  a whit  the  wiser  ; if  not,  it  is  only  sanctified 
ignorance.  Tell  me  if  names  with  them  are  not  a sanction 
for  opinion  ; quotations,  the  representatives  of  axioms  ? 
All  they  have  learned  only  serves  as  an  excuse  for  all  they 
are  ignorant  of.  In  one  month,  I will  engage  that  you 
shall  have  a juster  and  deeper  insight  into  wisdom,  than 
they  have  been  all  their  lives  acquiring  ; the  great  error 
of  education  is  to  fill  the  mind^ir.s^  with  antiquated  authors, 
and  then  to  try  the  principles  of  the  present  day  by  the 
authorities  and  maxims  of  the  past.  We  will  pursue,  for 
our  plan,  the  exact  reverse  of  the  ordinary  method.  We 
will  learn  the  doctrines  of  the  day,  as  the  first  and  most 
necessary  step,  and  we  will  then  glance  over  those  which 
have  passed  away,  as  researches  rather  curious  than  useful. 

‘^You  see  this  very  small  pamphlet ; it  is  a paper  by 
Mr.  Mill,  upon  Government.  We  will  know  this  thorough- 
ly, and  when  we  have  done  so,  we  may  rest  assured  that 
we  have  a far  more  accurate  information  upon  the  head 
and  front  of  all  political  knowledge,  than  two-thirds  of 
the  young  men  whose  cultivation  of  mind  you  have  usually 
heard  panegyrized.’^ 

So  saying,  my  uncle  opened  the  pamphlet.  lie  pointed 
out  to  me  its  close  and  mathematical  reasoning,  in  which 
no  flaw  could  be  detected,  nor  deduction  controverted  ; 
and  he  filled  up,  as  we  proceeded,  from  the  science  of  his 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


237 


own  clear  and  enlarged  mind,  the  various  parts  which  the 
poliiical  logician  had  left  for  reflection  to  complete.  My 
uncle  had  this  great  virtue  of  an  expositor,  that  he  never 
over-explained ; he  never  made  a parade  of  his  lecture, 
nor  confused  what  was  simple  by  unnecessary  comment. 

When  we  broke  off  our  first  day’s  employment,  I was 
quite  astonished  at  the  new  light  which  had  gleamed  upon 
me.  I felt  like  Sinbad,  the  sailor,  when,  in  wandering 
through  the  cavern  in  which  he  had  been  buried  alive,  he 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  bright  day.  Naturally 
eager  in  everything  I undertook,  foTid  of  application,  and 
addicted  to  reflect  over  the  various  bearings  of  any  object 
that  once  engrossed  my  attention,  I made  great  advance 
in  my  new  pursuit.  After  my  uncle  had  brought  me  to 
be  thoroughly  conversant  with  certain  and  definite  prin- 
ciples, we  proceeded  to  illustrate  them  from  fact.  For 
instance,  when  we  had  finished  the  “ Essay  upon  Govern- 
ment,” we  examined  into  the  several  Constitutions  of 
England,  British  America,  and  France  ; the  three  countries 
which  pretend  the  most  to  excellence  in  their  government : 
and  we  were  enabled  to  perceive  and  judge  the  defects  and 
merits  of  each,  because  we  had,  previously  to  our  exami- 
nation, established  certain  rules,  by  which  they  were  to  be 
investigated  and  tried.  Here  my  skeptical  indifference  to 
facts  was  my  chief  reason  for  readily  admitting  knowledge. 
I had  no  prejudices  to  contend  with  ; no  obscure  notions 
gleaned  from  the  past;  no  popular  maxims  cherished  as 
truths.  Everything  was  placed' before  me  as  before  a 
wholly  impartial  inquirer — freed  from  all  the  decorations 


238 


PELHAM;  OR 


and  delasions  of  sects  and  parties;  every  argument  was 
stated  with  logical  precision  — every  opinion  referred  to 
a logical  test.  Hence,  in  a very  short  time,  I owned  the 
justice  of  my  uncle’s  assurance,  as  to  the  comparative 
concentration  of  knowledge.  We  went  over  the  whole  of 
Mill’s  admirable  articles  in  the  Encyclopaedia,  over  the 
more  popular  works  of  Bentham,  and  thence  we  plunged 
into  the  recesses  of  political  economy.  I know  not  why 
this  study  has  been  termed  uninteresting.  No  sooner  had 
I entered  upon  its  consideration,  than  I could  scarcely 
tear  myself  from  it.  Never  from  that  moment  to  this  have 
I ceased  to  pay  it  the  most  constant  attention,  not  so  much 
as  a study  as  an  amusement;  but  at  that  time  my  uncle’s 
object  was  not  to  make  me  a profound  political  economist. 

I wish,”  said  he,  merely  to  give  you  an  acquaintance 
with  the  principles  of  the  science  ; not  that  you  may  be 
entitled  to  boast  of  knowledge,  but  that  you  may  be  ena- 
bled to  avoid  ignorance  ; not  that  you  may  discover  truth, 
but  that  you  may  detect  error.  Of  all  sciences,  political 
economy  is  contained  in  the  fewest  books,  and  yet  is  the 
most  difficult  to  master ; because  all  its  higher  branches 
require  earnestness  of  reflection,  proportioned  to  the  scan- 
tiness of  reading.  Ricardo’s  work,  together  with  some 
conversational  enlargement  on  the  several  topics  he  treats 
of,  will  be  enough  for  our  present  purpose.  I wish,  theriy 
to  show  you,  how  inseparably  allied  is  the  great  science 
of  public  policy  with  that  of  private  morality.  And  this, 
Henry,  is  the  grandest  object  of  all.  Now  to  our  present 
study.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


239 


Well,  gentle  reader,  (I  love,  by-the-by,  as  you  already 
perceive,  that  old-fashioned  courtesy  of  addressing  you)  — 
well,  to  finish  this  part  of  my  life,  which,  as  it  treats  rather 
of  my  attempts  at  reformation  than  my  success  in  error, 
must  begin  to. weary  you  exceedingly,  I acquired  more 
from  my  uncle’s  conversation  than  the  books  we  read,  a 
sufficient  acquaintance  with  the  elements  of  knowledge,  to 
satisfy  myself,  and  to  please  my  instructor.  And  I must 
say,  in  justification  of  my  studies  and  my  tutor,  that  I 
derived  one  benefit  from  them  which  has  continued  with 
me  to  this  hour  — viz.,  I obtained  a clear  knowledge  of 
moral  principle.  Before  that  time,  the  little  ability  I 
possessed  only  led  me  into  acts,  which,  I fear,  most  be- 
nevolent reader,  thou  hast  already  sufficiently  condemned  ; 
my  good  feelings  — for  I was  not  naturally  bad  — never 
availed  me  the  least  when  present  temptation  came  into 
my  way.  I had  no  guide  but  passion  ; no  rule  but  the 
impulse  of  the  moment.  What  else  could  have  been  the 
result  of  my  education  ? If  I was  immoral,  it  was  because 
I was  never  taught  morality.  Nothing,  perhaps,  is  less 
innate  than  virtue.  I own  that  the  lessons  of  my  uncle 
did  not  work  miracles  — that,  living  in  the  world,  I have 
not  separated  myself  from  its  errors  and  its  follies  : the 
Yortex  was  too  strong  — the  atmosphere  too  contagious: 
but  I have  at  least  avoided  the  crimes  into  which  my 
temper  would  most  likely  have  driven  me.  I ceased  to 
look  upon  the  w^rld  as  a game  one  was  to  play  fairly,  if 
possible  — but  where  a little  cheating  was  readily  allowed  ; 
1 no  ionger  divorced  the  interests  of  other  men  from  my 


240 


PELHAM;  OR, 


own:  if  I endeavored  to  blind  them,  it  was  neither  by 
unlawful  means,  nor  for  a purely  selfish  end:  — if — but 
come,  Henry  Pelham,  thou  hast  praised  thyself  enough  for 
the  present ; and,  after  all,  thy  future  adventures  will  best 
tell  if  thou  art  really  amended. 


CHAPTER  XXXYIII. 

Mihi  jam  non  regia  Roma, 

Sed  vacuum  Tibur  placet.  — Hor. 

My  dear  child, said  my  mother  to  me,  affectionately, 
“you  must  be  very  much  bored  here.  To  say  truth,  I am 
so  myself.  Your  uncle  is  a very  good  man,  but  he  does 
not  make  his  house  pleasant ; and  I have,  lately,  been  very 
much  afraid  that  he  should  convert  you  into  a mere  book- 
worm ; after  all,  my  dear  Henry,  you  are  quite  clever 
enough  to  trust  to  your  own  ability.  Your  great  geniuses 
never  read.” 

“ True,  my  dear  mother,”  said  I,  with  a most  unequivocal 
yawn,  and  depositing  on  the  table  Mr.  Beritham  on  Popular 
Fallacies;  “true,  and  I am  quite  of  your  opinion.  Did 
you  see  in  the  Post  of  this  morning,  how  full  Cheltenham 
was  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Henry  ; and  now  you  mention  it,  I don’t  think 
you  could  do  better  than  to  go  there  for  a month  or  two 
As  for  me,  I must  return  to  your  father,  whom  I left  a; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


241 


Lord  H ’s : a place,  entre  rious,  very  little  more 

amusing  than  this  — but  then  one  does  get  one’s  ecart^ 
table,  and  that  dear  Lady  Roseville,  your  old  acquaint- 
ance, is  staying  there.” 

‘‘Well,”  said  I,  musingly,  “suppose  we  take  our  de- 
parture the  beginning  of  next  week?  — our  way  will  be 
the  same  as  far  as  London,  and  the  plea  of  attending  you 
will  be  a good  excuse  to  my  uncle  for  proceeding  no 
farther  in  these  confounded  books.” 

“ G^esf  une  affaire  replied  my  mother,  “and  I 

will  speak  to  your  uncle  myself.” 

Accordingly,  the  necessary  disclosure  of  our  intentions 
was  made.  Lord  Glenmorris  received  it  with  proper 
indifference,  so  far  as  my  mother  was  concerned  ; but 
expressed  much  pain  at  my  leaving  him  so  soon.  However, 
when  he  found  I was  not  so  much  gratified  as  honored  by 
his  wishes  for  ray  longer  sejour^  he  gave  up  the  point  with 
a delicacy  that  enchanted  me. 

The  morning  of  our  departure  arrived.  Carriage  at  the 
door  — bandboxesdn  the  passage  — breakfast  on  the  table 
— myself  in  my  great  coat  — my  uncle  in  his  great  chair. 
“ My  dear  boy,”  said  he,  “ I trust  we  shall  meet  again  soon  : 
you  have  abilities  that  may  make  you  capable  of  effecting 
much  good  to  your  fellow-creatures ; but  you  are  fond  of 
the  world,  and,  though  not  averse  to  application,  devoted 
to  pleasure,  and  likely  to  pervert  the  gifts  you  possess.  At 
&11  events,  you  have  now  learned,  both  as  a public  character 
and  a private  individual,  the  difference  between  good  and 
evil.  Make  but  this  distinction  : that  whereas,  in  political 
L — 21 


Q 


242 


PELHAM;  OR, 


science,  the  rules  you  have  learned  may  be  fixed  and  uner« 
ring,  yet  the  application  of  them  must  vary  with  time  and 
circumstance.  We  must  bend,  temporize,  and  frequently 
withdraw,  doctrines  which  invariable  in  their  truth,  the 
prejudices  of  the  time  will  not  invariably  allow,  and  even 
relinquish  a faint  hope  of  obtaining  a great  good,  for  the 
certainty  of  obtaining  a lesser ; yet  in  the  science  of  private 
morals,  which  relate  for  the  main  part  to  ourselves  indi- 
vidually, we  have  no  right  to  deviate  one  single  iota  from 
the  rule  of  our  conduct.  Neither  time  nor  circumstance 
must  cause  us  to  modify  or  to  change.  Integrity  knows 
no  variation  ; honesty  no  shadow  of  turning.  We  must 
pursue  the  same  course  — stern  and  uncompromising  — in 
the  full  persuasion  that  the  path  of  right  is  like  the  bridge 
from  earth  to  heaven,  in  the  Mahometan  creed  ; — if  we 
swerve  but  a single  hair’s-breath,  we  are  irrevocably  lost.^^ 
At  this  moment  my  mother  joined  us,  with  a Well,  my 
dear  Henry,  everything  is  ready — we  have  no  time  to  lose.^’ 
My  uncle  rose,  pressed  my  hand,  and  left  in  it  a pocket- 
book,  which  I afterwards  discovered  to  be  most  satisfac- 
torily furnished.  We  took  an  edifying  and  affectionate 
farewell  of  each  other,  pa'ssed  through  the  two  rows  of 
servants,  drawn  up  in  martial  array,  along  the  great  hall, 
and  I entered  the  carriage,  and  went  off  with  the  rapidity 
of  a novel  upon  ‘‘fashionable  life.” 


adventures  oe  a gentleman.  243 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Die  — si  grave  non  est  — 

Quge  prima  iratum  ventrem  placaverit  esca.  — Hor. 

I DID  not  remain  above  a day  or  two  in  town.  I hac 
never  seen  much  of  the  humors  of  a watering-place,  and 
my  love  of  observing  character  made  me  exceedingly  im- 
patient for  that  pleasure.  Accordingly,  the  first  bright 
morning,  I set  off  for  Cheltenham.  I was  greatly  struck 
with  the  entrance  to  that  town  : it  is  to  these  watering- 
places  that  a foreigner  should  be  taken,  in  order  to  give 
him  an  adequate  idea  of  the  magnificent  opulence  and 
universal  luxury  of  England.  Our  country  has,  in  every 
province,  what  France  only  has  in  Paris  — a capital, 
consecrated  to  gaiety,  idleness,  and  enjoyment.  London 
is  both  too  busy  in  one  class  of  society,  and  too  pompous 
in  another,  to  please  a foreigner,  who  has  not  excellent 
recommendations  to  private  circles.  But  at  Brighton, 
Cheltenham,  Hastings,  Bath,  he  may,  as  at  Paris,  find  all 
the  gaieties  of  society  without  knowing  a single  individual. 

My  carriage  stopped  at  the Hotel.  A corpulent 

and  stately  waiter,  with  gold  buckles  to  a pair  of  very  tight 
pantaloons,  showed  me  up  stairs.  I found  myself  in  a 
tolerable  room  facing  the  street,  and  garnished  with  two 
pictures  of  rocks  and  rivers,  with  a comely  flight  of  crows, 


244 


PELHAM;  OR, 


hovering  in  the  horizon  of  both,  as  natural  as  possible  — 
only  they  were  a little  larger  than  the  trees.  Over  the 
chimney-piece,  where  I had  fondly  hoped  to  find  a looking- 
glass,  was  a grave  print  of  General  Washington,  with  one 
hand  stuck  out  like  the  spout  of  a tea-pot.  Between  the 
two  windows  (unfavorable  position!)  was  an  oblong  mirror, 
to  which  I immediately  hastened,  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  my  complexion  catch  the  color  of  the  curtains  that 
overhung  the  glass  on  each  side,  and  exhibit  the  pleasing 
rurality  of  a pale  green. 

I shrunk  back  aghast,  turned,  and  beheld  the  waiter. 
Had  I seen  myself  in  a glass  delicately  shaded  by  rose-hued 
curtains,  I should  gently  and  smilingly  have  said,  “Have 
the  goodness  to  bring  me  the  bill  of  fare.’^  As  it  was,  I 
growled  out,  “Bring  me  the  bill.’^ 

The  stiff  waiter  bowed  solemnly,  and  withdrew  slowly. 
I looked  round  the  room  once  more,  and  discovered  the 
additional  adornments  of  a tea-urn,  and  a book.  “Thank 
Heaven,”  thought  I,  as  I took  up  the  latter,  “it  can’t  be 
one  of  Jeremy  Bentham’s.”  No  1 it  was  the  Cheltenham 
Guide.  I turned  to  the  head  of  amusements  — “Dress 

ball  at  the  rooms  every ’’some  day  or  other  — which 

of  the  seven  I utterly  forget ; but  it  was  the  same  as 
that  which  witnessed  my  first  arrival  in  the  small  drawing- 
room of  the Hotel. 

“Thank  Heaven  ! ” said  T to  myself,  as  Bedos  entered 
with  my  things,  and  was  ordered  immediately  to  have  all 
in  preparation  for  “ the  dress-ball  at  the  rooms,”  at  the 
haur  of  half-past  ten.  The  waiter  entered  with  the  bill 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLi:*MAN. 


Soups,  chops,  cutlets,  steaks,  roast  joints,  &c.,  &c. — • 
lion^  hirdi^y 

Get  some  soup,’’  said  I,  a slice  or  two  of  lion^  and 
half  a dozen  birds.” 

^‘Sir,”  said  the  solemn  waiter,  ^^you  can’t  have  less 
than  a whole  lion,  and  we  have  only  two  birds  in  the  house.” 

Pray,”  asked  I,  “are  you  in  the  habit  of  supplying 
your  larder  from  Exeter ’Change,  or  do  you  breed  lions 
here  like  poultry?” 

“ Sir,”  answered  the  grim  waiter,  never  relaxing  into  a 
smile,  “ we  have  lions  brought  us  from  the  country  €^ery 
day.” 

“What  do  you  pay  for  them?”  said  1. 

“About  three  and  sipence  a-piece,  sir.” 

“Humph  ! market  in  Africa  overstocked,”  thougl  l 1. 

“ Pray,  how  do  you  dress  an  animal  of  that  descripti  ox?” 

“ Roast  and  stuff  him,  sir,  and  serve  him  up  with  ci  r-  ant 
jelly.” 

“ What ! like  a hare  ! ” 

“A  lion  is  a hare,  sir.’^ 

“ What ! 

“ Yes,  sir,  it  is  a hare  ! — but  we  call  it  a lion,  because 
of  the  Game  laws.” 

Bright  discovery,”  thought  I ; “ they  have  a nr  v 
language  in  Cheltenham ; nothing’s  like  travelling  o 
enlarge  the  mind.”  “And  the  birds,”  said  I,  aloud,  “ 9 ^ 
c either  humming-birds,  nor  ostriches,  I suppose?” 

“No,  sir;  they  are  partridges.” 

21* 


246 


PELHAM;  OR 


“Well,  then,  give  me  some  soup,  a cutlet,  and  a *bird,^ 
as  you  term  it,  and  be  quick  about  it.^’ 

“ It  shall  be  done  with  despatch,’’  answered  the  pompous 
attendant,  and  withdrew. 

Is  there,  in  the  whole  course  of  this  pleasant  and  varying 
life,  which  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  write  verses  to 
prove  same  and  sorrowful,  — is  there  in  the  whole  course  of 
it,  one  half-hour  really  and  genuinely  disagreeable  ? — if  so, 
it  is  the  half-hour  before  dinner  at  a strange  inn.  Neverthe- 
less, by  the  help  of  philosophy  and  the  window,  I managed 
to  endure  it  with  great  patience  : and,  though  I was  famish- 
ing with  hunger,  I pretended  the  indifference  of  a sage,  even 
w^heii  the  dinner  was  at  length  announced.  I coquetted  a 
whole  minute  with  my  napkin,  before  I attempted  the  soup, 
and  I helped  myself  to  the  potatory  food  with  a slow 
dignity  that  must  have  perfectly  won  the  heart  of  the 
solemn  waiter.  The  soup  was  a little  better  than  hot  wa- 
ter, and  the  sharp-sauced  cutlet  than  leather  and  vinegar; 
howbeit,  I attacked  them  with  the  vigorof  an  Irishman, 
and  washed  them  down  with  a bottle  of  the  worst  liquor 
ever  dignified  with  the  venerabile  nomen  of  claret.  The 
bird  was  tough  enough  to  have  passed  for  an  ostrich  in 
miniature  ; and  I felt  its  ghost  hopping  about  the  stomachic 
sepulchre  to  which  I consigned  it,  the  whole  of  that  even- 
ing, and  a great  portion  of  the  next  day,  w^hen  a glass  of 
curaQoa  laid  it  at  rest. 

After  this  splendid  repast,  I flung  myself  back  on  my 
chair  with  the  complacency  of  a man  who  has  dined  well, 
and  dozed  away  the  time  till  the  hour  of  dressing. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  241 


^^Now,’’  thought  I,  as  I placed  myself  before  my  glass, 
shall  I gently  please,  or  sublimely  astonish  the  ‘ fash- 
ionables ’ of  Cheltenham  ? — Ah,  bah  ! the  latter  school  is 
vulgar,  Byron  spoilt  it.  Don’t  put  out  that  chain,  Bedos 
— I wear  — the  black  coat,  waistcoat,  and  trowsers.  Brush 
my  hair  as  much  out  of  curl  as  you  can,  and  give  an  air 
of  graceful  negligence  to  my  tout  ensemble.'^ 

Oulj  Monsieur,  je  comprends,^-  answered  Bedos. 

I was  soon  dressed,  for  it  is  the  design,  not  the  execution^ 
of  all  great  undertakings  which  requires  deliberation  and 
delay.  Action  cannot  be  too  prompt.  A chair  was  called^ 
and  Henry  Pelham  was  conveyed  to  the  rooms. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Now  see,  prepared  to  lead  the  sprightly  dance, 

The  lovely  nymphs,  and  well-dress’d  youths  advance  ; 

The  spacious  room  receives  its  jovial  guest. 

And  the  floor  shakes  with  pleasing  weight  oppress’d. 

A rt  of  Dancing, 

Page.  His  name,  my  lord,  is  Tyrrell.  — Richard  III, 

Upon  entering,  I saw  several  heads  rising  and  sinking, 
to  the  tune  of  “ Cherry  ripe.”  A whole  row  of  stiff  necks, 
in  cravats  of  the  most  unexceptionable  length  and  breadth, 
were  just  before  me.  A tall  thin  young  man,  with  dark 
wiry  hair  brushed  on  one  side,  was  drawing  on  a pair  of 
white  Woodstock  gloves,  and  affecting  to  look  round  the 
room  with  the  supreme  indifference  of  bon  ton. 


248 


PELHAM;  OR, 


**  Ah,  Ritson,’^  said  another  young  Cheltenhamian  to 
him  of  the  Woodstock  gauntlets,  “havhi’t  you  been  danc- 
ing  yet?/ 

*‘No,  Smith,  ’pon  honor!’’  answered  Mr.  Ritson  ; ^‘it 
is  so  overpow'eringly  hot ; no  fashionable  man  dances  now  ; 
— it  isn’t  the  thing. 

Why,”  replied  Mr.  Smith,  who  was  a good-natured 
looking  person,  with  a blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  and  a 
gold  pin  in  his  neckcloth,  why,  they  dance  at  Almack’s, 
don’t  they?” 

“No,  ’pon  honor,”  murmured  Mr.  Ritson;  “no,  they 
just  walk  a quadrille  or  spin  a woltz^  as  my  friend.  Lord 
Bobadob,  calls  it;  nothing  more  — no,  hang  dancing,  ’tis 
so  vulgar.” 

A stout,  red-faced  man,  about  thirty,  with  wet  auburn 
hair,  a marvellously  fine  waistcoat,  and  a badly  w^ashed  frill, 
now  joined  Messrs.  Ritson  and  Smith. 

“Ah,  Sir  Ralph,”  cried  Smith,  “ how  d’ye  do  ? been 
hunting  all  day,  I suppose?” 

“Yes,  old  cock,”  replied  Sir  Ralph;  “been  after  the 
brush  till  I am  quite  done  up  ; such  a glorious  run  ! By 
G — , you  should  have  seen  my  grey  mare,  Smith  ; by  G — , 
she’s  a glorious  fencer.” 

“ You  don’t  hunt,  do  you,  Ritson  ? ” interrogated  Mr. 
Smith. 

“Yes,  I do,”  replied  Mr.  Ritson,  affectedly  playing  with 
his  Woodstock  glove  ; “ yes,  but  I only  hunt  in  Leicester- 
shire with  my  friend.  Lord  Bobadob  ; ’tis  not  the  thing  to 
hunt  anywhere  else.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


249 


Sir  Ralph  stared  at  the  speaker  with  mute  contempt ; 
while  Mr.  Smith,  like  the  ass  between  the  hay,  stooa 
balancing  betwixt  the  opposing  merits  of  the  baronet  and 
the  beau.  Meanwhile,  a smiling,  nodding,  affected  female 
thing,  in  ringlets  and  flowers,  flirted  up  to  the  trio. 

“ Now,  really,  Mr.  Smith,  you  should  deence ; a feeshion- 
able  young  man,  like  you  — I don^t  know”  what  the  young 
leedies  will  say  to  you.’^  And  the  fair  seducer  laughed 
bewitcliingly. 

'‘You  are  very  good,  Mrs.  Dollimore,”  replied  Mr. 
Smith,  with  a blush  and  a low  bow  ; “ but  Mr.  Ritson  tells 
me  it  is  not  the  thing  to  dance. 

“Oh,”  cried  Mrs.  Dollimore,  “but  then  he’s  seech  a 
naughty,  conceited  creature  — don’t  follow  his  example, 
Meester  Smith  ; ” and  again  the  good  lady  laughed  im- 
moderately. 

“ Nay,  Mrs.  Dollimore,”  said  Mr.  Ritson,  passing  his 
hand  through  his  abominable  hair,  “ you  are  too  severe  ; 

but  tell  me,  Mrs.  Dollimore,  is  the  Countess coming 

here  ?” 

“ Now,  reelly,  Mr.  Ritson,  i/ou,  who  are  the  pink  of 
feeshion,  ought  to  know  better  than  I can  ; but  I hear  so.” 

“Do  you  know  the  countess?”  said  Mr.  Smith,  in 
respectful  surprise,  to  Ritson. 

“ Oh,  very  well,”  replied  the  Coryphaeus  of  Cheltenham, 
swinging  his  Woodstock  glove  to  and  fro ; “ I have  often 
danced  with  her  at  Ahiiack’s.” 

“ Is  she  a good  deencer  ?”  asked  Mrs.  Dollimore. 


250 


P E L HA  M ; OR 


'"0,  capital,”  responded  Mr.  Ritson  ; she’s  such  a 
nice  genteel  little  figure.” 

Sir  Ralph,  apparently  tired  of  this  “ feeshionable  ” con- 
versation, swaggered  away. 

Pray,”  said  Mrs.  Dollimore,  who  is  that  geentle* 
man  ? ” 

“Sir  Ralph  Rurnford,”  replied  Smith,  eagerly,  “a 
particular  friend  of  mine  at  Cambridge.” 

“ I wonder  if  he’s  going  to  make  a long  steey  ?”  said 
Mrs.  Dollimore. 

“Yes,  I believe  so,”  replied  Mr.  Smith,  “if  we  make  it 
agreeable  to  him.” 

“ You  must  poositively  introduce  him  to  me,”  said  Mrs. 
Dollimore. 

“ I will,  with  great  pleasure,”  said  the  good-natured 
Mr.  Smith. 

“ Is  Sir  Ralph  a man  of  fashion  ? ” inquired  Mr.  Ritson. 

“ He’s  a baronet ! ” emphatically  pronounced  Mr. 
Smith. 

“Ah  1 ” replied  Ritson,  “but  he  may  be  a man  of  rank, 
without  being  a man  of  fashion.” 

“ True,”  lisped  Mrs.  Dollimore. 

“ I don’t  know,”  replied  Smith,  with  aq  air  of  puzzled 
wonderment,  “but  he  has  Y,000Z.  a-year.” 

“ Has  he,  indeed  ? ” cried  Mrs.  Dollimore,  surprised 
into  her  natural  tone  of  voice  ; and,  at  that  moment,  a 
young  lady,  ringleted  and  flow’^red  like  herself,  joined 
her,  and  accosted  her  by  the  endearing  appellation  of 
“ Mamma.” 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


251 


“Have  you  been  dancing,  my  love?”  inquired  Mrs. 
Dolli  more. 

‘^Yes,  ma ; with  Captain  Johnson.” 

Oh,”  said  the  mother,  with  a toss  of  her  head  ; and, 
giving  her  daughter  a significant  push,  she  walked  awav 
with  her  to  another  end  of  the  room,  to  talk  about  Sir 
Ralph  Rumford,  and  his  seven  thousand  pounds  a-year. 

“ Well  I ” thought  I,  odd  people  these  ; let  us  enter  a 
little  farther  into  this  savage  country.”  In  accordance 
with  this  reflection,  I proceeded  towards  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

Who’s  that?”  said  Mr.  Smith,  in  a loud  whisper  as 
I passed  him. 

Ton  honor,”  answered  Ritson,  I don’t  know  ! but 
€’s  a deuced  neat-looking  fellow.” 

Thank  you,  Mr.  Ritson,”  said  my  vanity;  ^‘you  are 
not  so  offensive,  after  all.” 

I paused  to  look  at  the  dancers  ; a middle-aged,  re- 
spectable-looking gentleman  was  beside  me.  Common 
people,  after  they  have  passed  forty,  grow  social.  My 
neighbor  hemmed  twice,  and  made  preparation  for  speak- 
ing. I may  as  well  encourage  him,”  was  my  reflection  ; 
accordingly  I turned  round,  with  a most  good-natured 
expression  of  countenance. 

fine  room  this,  sir,”  said  the  man  immediately. 

“ Yery,”  said  I,  with  a smile,  and  extremely  well  filled.” 

*'Ah,  sir,”  answered  my  neighbor,  “ Cheltenham  is  not 
as  it  used  to  be  some  fifteen  years  ago.  I have  seen  as 
many  as  one  thousand  two  hundred  and  fifty  persons  within 


252 


PELHAM;  OR, 


these  walls  (certain  people  are  always  so  d d par- 

ticularizing) ; ‘‘ay,  sir,”  pursued  my  laudator  temporia 
actiy  “and  half  the  peerage  here  into  the  bargain.” 

‘^Indeed!”  quoth  I,  with  an  air  of  surprise  suited  to 
the  information  I received,  “ but  the  society  is  very  good 
still,  is  it  not  ? ” 

“Oh,  very  genteely^^  replied  the  man;  “but  not  so 
dashing  as  it  used  to  be.”  (Oh  ! those  two  horrid  words  I 
low  enough  to  suit  even  the  author  of  “ .”) 

“ Pray,”  asked  I,  glancing  at  Messrs.  Ri*tson  and  Smith, 
“do  you  know  who  those  gentlemen  are  ? ” 

“Extremely  well!”  replied  my  neighbor;  “the  tall 
young  man  is  Mr.  Ritson  ; his  mother  has  a house  in 
3aker-street,  and  gives  quite  elegant  parties.  He’s  a most 
genteel  young  man  ; but  such  an  insufferable  coxcomb.” 

“And  the  other  ? ” said  I. 

“ Oh  I he’s  a Mr.  Smith  ; his  father  was  an  eminent 
brewer,  and  is  lately  dead,  leaving  each  of  his  sons  thirty 
thousand  pounds ; the  young  Smith  is  a knowing  hand, 
and  wants  to  spend  his  money  with  spirit.  He  has  a great 
passion  for  ^high  life,^  and  therefore  attaches  himself  much 
to  Mr.  Ritson,  who  is  quite  that  uay  inclinedd^ 

“ He  could  not  have  selected  a better  model,”  said  I. 

“ True,”  rejoined  my  Cheltenham  Asmodeus,  with  naive 
simplicity  ; “ but  I hope  he  won^t  adopt  his  conceit  as  well 
as  his  eleganced^ 

“I  shall  die,”  said  I to  myself,  “if  I talk  with  this 
fellow  any  longer,”  and  I was  just  going  to  glide  away, 
when  a tall,  stately  dowager,  with  two  lean,  scraggy 


adventures  of  a gentleman. 


253 


daughters,  entered  the  room ; I could  not  resist  pausing 
to  inquire  who  they  were. 

My  friend  looked  at  me  with  a very  altered  and  disre- 
spectful air  at  this  interrogation.  Who  ? ” said  he,  “ why 
the  Countess  of  Babbleton  and  her  two  daughters,  the 
Honorable  Lady  Jane  Babel,  and  the  Honorable  Lady 
Mary  Babel.  They  are  the  great  people  of  Cheltenham,’’ 
pursued  he,  *^and  it’s  a fine  thing  to  get  into  their  set  ” 
Meanwhile  Lady  Babbleton  and  her  two  daughters 
swept  up  the  room,  bowing  and  nodding  to  the  riven  ranks 
on  each  side,  who  made  their  salutations  with  the  most 
profound  respect.  My  experienced  eye  detected  in  a 
moment  that  Lady  Babbleton,  in  spite  of  her  title  and  her 
stateliness,  was  exceedingly  the  reverse  of  good  ton,  and 
the  daughters  (who  did  not  resemble  the  scrag  of  mutton, 
hut  its  ghost)  had  an  appearance  of  sour  affability,  which 
was  as  different  from  the  manners  of  proper  society  as  it 
possibly  could  be. 

I wondered  greatly  who  and  what  they  were.  In  the 
eyes  of  the  Cheltenhamians,  they  were  the  countess  and 
her  daughters ; and  any  further  explanation  would  have 
been  deemed  quite  superfluous  ; further  explanation  I was, 
however,  determined  to  procure,  and  was  walking  across 
the  room  in  profound  meditation  as  to  the  method  in  which 
the  discovery  should  be  made,  when  I was  startled  by  the 
voice  of  Sir  Lionel  Garrett ; I turned  round,  and  to  my 
inexpressible  joy,  beheld  that  worthy  baronet. 

Bless  me,  Pelham,”  said  he,  how  delighted  I am  to 
1—22 


254  PELHAM;  OR, 

Bee  you.  Lady  Harriet,  here’s  your  old  favorite,  Mr. 
Pelham.” 

Lady  Harriet  was  all  smiles  and  pleasure.  Give  me 
your  arm,”  said  she  : I must  go  and  speak  to  Lady 
Babbleton  — odious  woman  ! ” 

‘‘  Do,  my  dear  Lady  Harriet,”  said  I,  explain  to  me 
what  Lady  Babbleton  was.” 

Why  — she  was  a milliner,  and  took  in  the  late  lord, 
who  was  an  idiot. — Voildi  tout!^^ 

Perfectly  satisfactory,”  replied  I. 

Or,  short  and  sweet,  as  Lady  Babbleton  would  say,” 
replied  Lady  Harriet,  laughing. 

‘‘In  antithesis  to  her  daughters,  who  are  long  and  sour.” 

“ Oh,  you  satirist  ! ” said  the  affected  Lady  Harriet 
(who  was  only  three  removes  better  than  the  Cheltenham 
countess)  ; “ but  tell  me,  how  long  have  you  been  at 
Cheltenham  ? ” 

“About  four  hours  and  a half ! ” 

“ Then  you  don’t  know  any  of  the  lions  here  ? ” 

“ None,  except  (I  added  to  myself)  the  lion  I had  for 
dinner.” 

“Well,  let  me  despatch  Lady  Babbleton,  and  I’ll  then 
devote  myself  to  being  your  nomenclator.” 

We  walked  up  to  Lady  Babbleton,  who  had  already 
disposed  of  her  daughters,  and  was  sitting  in  solitary 
dignity  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

“ My  dear  Lady  Babbleton,”  cried  Lady  Harriet,  taking 
both  the  hands  of  the  dowager,  “I  am  so  glad  to  sre 
you,  and  how  well  you  are  looking  ; and  your  charming 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


255 


daughters,  how  are  they  ? — sweet  girls  ! — and  how  long 
have  you  been  here  ? 

We  have  only  just  come,”  replied  the  ci-devant  milliner, 
half  rising,  and  rustling  her  plumes  in  stately  agitation, 
like  a nervous  parrot ; we  must  conform  to  modern  ours, 
Lady  Arrietl,  though,  for  my  part,  I like  the  old-fashioned 
plan  of  dining  early,  and  finishing  one’s  gaieties  before 
midnight ; but  I set  the  fashion  of  good  ours  as  well  as 
I can.  I think  it’s  a duty  we  owe  to  society.  Lady  Arriett, 
to  encourage  morality  by  our  own  example.  What  else  do 
we  have  rank  for  ? ” And,  so  saying,  the  counter  countess 
drew  herself  up  with  a most  edifying  air  of  moral  dignity. 

Lady  Harriet  looked  at  me,  and  perceiving  that  my  eye 
said  “ go  on,”  as  plainly  as  eye  could  possibly  speak,  she 
continued  — “Which  of  the  wells  do  you  attend.  Lady 
Babbleton  ? ” 

“All,”  replied  the  patronizing  dowager.  “I  like  to 
encourage  the  poor  people  here  ; I’ve  no  notion  of  being 
proud  because  one  has  a title.  Lady  Arriett.'^^ 

“No,”  rejoined  the  worthy  helpmate  of  Sir  Lionel 
Garrett;  “ everybody  talks  of  your  condescension.  Lady 
Babbleton  ; but  are  you  not  afraid  of  letting  yourself  down 
by  going  everywhere  ? ” 

“ Oh,”  answered  the  countess,  “I  admit  very  few  into 
my  set  at  home,  but  I go  out  'promiscuously ; ” and  then, 
looking  at  me,  she  said,  in  a whisper,  to  Lady  Harriet, 
“ who  is  that  nice  young  gentleman  ? ” 

' Mr.  Pelham,-”  replied  Lady  Harriet ; and,  turning  to 
me,  formally  introduced  us  to  each  other. 


256 


TELflAM;  OR, 


‘‘Are  you  any  relation  (asked  the  dowager)  to  Lady 
Frances  Pelham 

“Only  her  son,’^  said  I. 

“ Dear  me,’^  replied  Lady  Babbleton,  “how  odd  ; what 
a nice  elegant  woman  she  is  ! She  does  not  go  much  out, 
does  she?  I don’t  often  meet  her.” 

“ I should  not  think  it  likely  that  your  ladyship  did  meet 
her  much.  She  does  not  visit  promiscuously.^^ 

“ Every  rank  has  its  duty,”  said  Lady  Harriet,  gravely  ; 
“your  mother,  Mr.  Pelham,  may  confine  her  circle  as  much 
as  she  pleases  ; but  the  high  rank  of  Lady  Babbleton  re- 
quires greater  condescension  ; just  as  the  Dukes  of  Sussex 
and  Gloucester  go  to  many  places  where  you  and  I would 
not.” 

“ Very  true  1 ” said  the  innocent  dowager ; “ and  that’s 
a very  sensible  remark  ! Were  you  at  Bath  last  winter, 
Mr.  Pelham  ? ” continued  the  countess,  whose  thoughts 
wandered  from  subject  to  subject  in  the  most  rudderless 
manner. 

“No,  Lady  Babbleton,  I was  unfortunately  at  a less 
distinguished  place.” 

“ What  was  that  ? ” 

“ Paris ! ” 

“ Oh,  indeed  ! I’ve  never  been  abroad ; I don’t  think  per- 
sons of  a certain  rank  should  leave  England  ; they  should 
stay  at  home  and  encourage  their  own  manufactories.” 

“Ah  1 ” cried  I,  taking  hold  of  Lady  Babbleton’s  shawl, 
“ what  a pretty  Manchester  pattern  tJiis  is.”  ' 

“ Manchester  pattern  ! ” exclaimed  the  petrified  peer* 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  251 

ess ; “ why  it  is  real  cachemire  : you  don’t  think  I wear 
anything  English,  Mr.  Pelham  ? ” 

I beg  your  ladyship  ten  thousand  pardons,  I am  no 
judge  of  dress  ; but  to  return  — lam  quite  of  your  opinion, 
that  we  ought  to  encourage  our  own  manufactories^  and 
not  go  abroad  : but  one  cannot  stay  long  on  the  Continent, 
eiren  if  one  is  decoyed  there.  One  soon  longs  for  home 
again.” 

“ Very  sensibly  remarked,”  rejoined  Lady  Babbleton  ; 
that’s  what  I call  true  patriotism  and  morality.  I wish 
all  the  young  men  of  the  present  day  were  like  you.  Oh, 
dear  ! — here’s  a great  favorite  of  mine  coming  this  way 
— Mr.  Ritson  ! — do  you  know  him ‘f  shall  I introduce 
you  ? ” 

‘‘Heaven  forbid  ! ” exclaimed  I — frightened  out  of  my 
wits,  and  my  manners.  “ Come,  Lady  Harriet,  let  us 
rejoin  Sir  Lionel ; ” and,  ‘ swift  at  the  word,’  Lady  Harriet 
retook  my  arm,  nodded  her  adieu  to  Lady  Babbleton,  and 
withdrew  with  me  to  an  obscurer  part  of  the  room. 

Here  we  gave  way  to  our  laughter  for  some  time  — “ Is 
it  possible,”  exclaimed  I,  starting  up  — “Can  that  be 
Tyrrell  ? ” 

“ What’s  the  matter  with  the  man  ? ” cried  Lady  Harriet. 

I quickly  recovered  my  presence  of  mind,  and  reseated 
/nyself ; “ Pray  forgive  me.  Lady  Harriet,”  said  I ; “ but 
I think,  nay,  I am  sure,  I see  a person  I once  met  under 
very  particular  circumstances.  Do  you  observe  that  dark 
man  in  deep  mourning,  who  has  just  entered  the  room,  and 
is  now  speaking  to  Sir  Ralph  Rumford  ? ” 

22  * R 


PELHAM;  OR, 


2bS 

I do  ; it  is  Sir  John  Tyrrell ! ” replied  Lady  Harriet : 
*'he  only  came  to  Cheltenham  yesterday.  His  is  a very 
singular  history.’’ 

What  is  it  ? ” said  I,  eagerly. 

Why  ! he  was  the  only  son  of  a younger  branch  of  the 
Tyrrells  ; a very  old  family,  as  the  name  denotes.  He  was 
a great  deal  in  a certain  roue  set,  for  some  years,  and  was 
celebrated  for  his  gallantries.  His  fortune  was,  however, 
perfectly  unable  to  satisfy  his  expenses ; he  took  to  gam- 
bling, and  lost  the  remains  of  his  property.  He  went 
abroad,  and  used  to  be  seen  at  the  low  gambling-houses 
at  Paris,  earning  a very  degraded  and  precarious  subsist- 
ence ; till,  about  three  months  ago,  two  persons,  who  stood 
between  him  and  the  title  and  estates  of  the  family,  died, 
and  most  unexpectedly  he  succeeded  to  both.  They  say 
that  he  was  found  in  the  most  utter  penury  and  distress,  in 
a small  cellar  at  Paris  ; however  that  may  be,  he  is  now  Sir 
John  Tyrrell,  with  a very  large  income,  and,  in  spite  of  a 
certain  coarseness  of  manner,  probably  acquired  by  the  low 
company  he  latterly  kept,  he  is  very  much  liked  and  even 
admired,  by  the  few  good  people  in  the  society  of  Chel- 
tenham.” 

At  this  instant  Tyrrell  passed  us ; he  caught  my  eye 
stopped  short,  and  colored  violently.  I bowed  ; he  seemed 
unde  ided  for  a moment  as  to  the  course  he  should  adopt ; 
it  was  but  for  a moment.  He  returned  my  salutation  with 
great  appearance  of  cordiality  ; shook  me  warmly  by  the 
hand  ; expressed  himself  delighted  to  meet  me  ; inquired 
where  I was  staying,  and  said  he  should  certainly  call  upon 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


269 


me.  With  this  promise  he  glided  on,  and  was  soon  lost 
among  the  crowd. 

Where  did  you  meet  him  ? ’’  said  Lady  Harriet. 

“ At  Paris.” 

What ! was  he  in  decent  society  there  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  I.  Good  night,  Lady  Harriet ; ” 
and  with  an  air  of  extreme  lassitude,  I took  my  hat,  and 
vanished  from  that  motley  mixture  of  the  fashionably  low 
and  the  vulgarly  genteel! 


CHAPTEH  XLI. 

Full  maiij  a lady 

I have  eyed  with  best  regard,  arid  many  a time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  unto  bondage 
Drawn  my  too  diligent  eyes. 

But  you,  oh  ! you, 

So  perfect  and  so  peerless,  are  create 
Of  every  creature’s  best. — Shakspeare 

Thou  wilt  easily  conceive,  my  dear  reader,  who  hast 
been  in  ray  confidence  throughout  the  whole  of  this  history, 
and  whom,  though  as  yet  thou  hast  cause  to  esteem  me 
bi:t  lightly,  I already  love  as  my  familiar  and  my  friend 
— thou  wilt  easily  conceive  my  surprise  at  meeting  so  unex- 
pectedly with  my  old  hero  of  the  gambling-house.  I felt 
indeed  perfectly  stunned  at  the  shock  of  so  singular  a 
•rhange  in  his  circumstances  since  I had  last  met  him.  My 
thoughts  reverted  immediately  to  that  scene,  and  to  the 


2GG 


PELHAM;  OR, 


mysterious  connection  between  Tyrrell  and  Glanville.  How 
\ would  the  latter  receive  the  intelligence  of  his  enemy's 
good  fortune  ? was  his  vengeance  yet  satisfied,  or  through 
what  means  could  it  now  find  vent  ? 

A thousand  thjDughts  sirnilar  to  these  occupied  and  dis- 
tracted my  attention  till  morning,  when  I summoned  Bedos 
into  the  room  to  read  me  to  sleep.  He  opened  a play  of 
Monsieur  Delavigne’s,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  second 
scene  I was  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

I woke  about  two  o’clock  ; dressed,  sipped  my  chocolate, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  arranging  my  hat  to  the  best 
advantage,  when  I received  the  following  note  : — 

“ My  dear  Pelham, 

Me  tibi  commendo.  1 heard  this  morning,  at  your 
hotel,  that  you  were  here  ; my  heart  was  a house  of  joy  at 
the  intelligence.  I called  upon  you  two  hours  ago  ; but, 
like  Antony,  ‘you  revel  long  o’  nights.’  Ah,  that  I could 
add  with  Shakspeare,  that  you  were  ‘ notwithstanding  upd 
I have  just  come  from  Paris,  that  umbilicus  terrcB,  and 
my  adventures  since  I saw  you,  for  your  private  satisfaction, 
‘because  I love  you  I will  let  you  know  but  you  must 
satisfy  me  with  a meeting.  Till  you  do,  ‘ the  mighty  godi 
defend  you  1 ’ 

“Vincent.” 

The  hotel  from  which  Vincent  dated  this  epistle,  was  in 
the  same  street  as  my  own  caravanserai,  and  to  this  hotel 
I immediately  set  off.  I found  my  friend  sitting  before  a 
huge  folio,  which  he  in  vain  endeavored  to  persuade  me 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


261 


that  he  seriouwsly  intended  to  read.  We  greeted  each  other 
with  the  greatest  cordiality. 

But  how/’  said  Vincent,  after  the  first  warmth  of 
welcome  had  subsided,  how  shall  I congratulate  you  upon 
your  new  honors  ? I was  not  prepared  to  find  you  grown 
from  a roue  into  a senator. 

‘ In  gathering  votes  you  were  not  slack, 

Now  stand  as  tightly  by  your  tack, 

Ne’er  show  your  lug  an’  fidge  your  back, 

An’  hum  an’  haw; 

But  raise  your  arm,  an’  tell  your  crack 
Before  them  a’.’ 

So  saith  Burns  ; advice  which,  being  interpreted,  meaneth, 
that  you  must  astonish  the  rats  of  St.  Stephen’s.” 

Alas  ! ” said  I,  “ all  one’s  clap-traps  in  that  house 
must  be  baited.” 

Nay,  but  a rat  bites  at  any  cheese,  from  Gloucester  to 
Parmesan,  and  you  can  easily  scrape  up  a bit  of  some  sort. 
Talking  of  the  House,  do  you  see,  by  the  paper,  that  the 
civic  senator,  Alderman  W , is  at  Cheltenham  ?” 

I was  not  aware  of  it.  I suppose  he ’s  cramming 
speeches  and  turtle  for  the  next  season.” 

How  wonderfully,”  said  Vincent,  “your  city  dignities 
unloose  the  tongue  I directly  a man  has  been  a mayor,  he 
thinks  himself  qualified  for  a Tully  at  least.  Faith,  the 
Lord  Mayor  asked  me  one  day,  what  was  the  Latin  for 
spouting  ? and  I told  him,  ' hippomaneSj  or  a raging  huraoi* 
in  mayors.^ 

After  I had  paid,  through  the  medium  of  my  risible 
muscles,  due  homage  to  this  witticism  of  Vincent’s,  he 


262 


PELHAM;  OR, 

shut  up  his  folio,  called  for  his  hat,  and  we  sauntered  down 
into  the  street. 

‘‘When  do  you  go  up  to  town  asked  Yincent. 

“Not  till  my  senatorial  duties  require  me.’’ 

“Do  you  stay  here  till  then?” 

“As  it  pleases  the  gods.  But,  good  heavens  I Yincent, 
what  a beautiful  girl ! ” 

Yincent  turned.  “ 0 Dea  certe^^^  murmured  he,  and 
stopped. 

The  object  of  our  exclamations  was  standing  by  a corner 
shop,  apparently  waiting  for  some  one  within.  Her  face 
at  the  moment  I first  saw  her,  was  turned  full  towards  me. 
Never  had  I seen  any  countenance  half  so  lovely.  She 
was  apparently  about  twenty  ; her  hair  was  of  the  richest 
chestnut,  and  a golden  light  played  through  its  darkness, 
as  if  a sunbeam  had  been  caught  in  those  luxuriant  tresses, 
and  was  striving  in  vain  to  escape.  Her  eyes  were  of  light 
hazel,  large,  deep,  and  shaded  into  softness  (to  use  a 
modern  expression)  by  long  and  very  dark  lashes.  Her 
complexion  alone  would  have  rendered  her  beautiful,  it 
was  so  clear  — so  pure  ; the  blood  blushed  beneath  it,  like 
roses  under  a clear  stream  ; if,  in  order  to  justify  my  simile, 
roses  would  have  the  complacency  to  grow  in  such  a situa- 
tion. Her  nose  was  of  that  fine  and  accurate  mould  that 
one  so  seldom  sees,  except  in  the  Grecian  statues,  which 
unites  the  clearest  and  most  decided  outline  with  the  most 
feminine  delicacy  and  softness : and  the  short  curved  arch 
which  descended  from  thence  to  her  mouth,  was  so  fine  — 
so  airily  and  exquisitely  formed,  that  it  seemed  as  if  Love 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  263 


himself  bad  modelled  the  bridge  which  led  to  bis  most 
beautiful  and  fragrant  island.  On  the  right  side  of  the 
mouth  was  one  dimple,  which  corresponded  so  exactly  with 
every  smile  and  movement  of  those  rosy  lips,  that  you 
might  have  sworn  the  shadow  of  each  passed  there  ; it  was 
like  the  rapid  changes  of  an  April  heaven  reflected  upon 
a valley.  She  was  somew^hat,  but  not  much,  taller  than 
the  ordinary  height;  and  her  figure,  which  united  all  the 
first  freshness  and  youth  of  the  girl  with  the  more  luxuriant 
graces  of  the  woman,  w^as  rounded  and  finished  so  justly, 
that  the  eye  could  glance  over  the  whole,  without  discover- 
ing the  least  harshness  or  unevenness,  or  atom  to  be  added 
or  subtracted.  But  over  all  these  was  a light,  a glow,  a 
pervading  spirit,  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  convey  the 
faintest  idea.  You  should  have  seen  her  by  the  side  of  a 
shaded  fountain  on  a summer’s  day.  You  should  have 
watched  her  amidst  music  and  flowers,  and  she  might  have 
seemed  to  you  like  the  fairy  that  presided  over  both.  So 
much  for  poetical  description: — it  is  not  mj  forte  ! 

What  think  you  of  her,  Yincent  ? ” said  I, 

**  I say,  with  Theocritus,  in  his  epithalamium  of  Helen 
» 

Say  no  such  thing,”  said  I ; “ I will  not  have  her 
presence  profaned  by  any  helps  from  your  memory.” 

At  that  moment  the  girl  turned  round  abruptly,  and  re- 
entered the  statiener’s  shop,  at  the  door  of  which  she  had 
been  standing. 

Let  us  enter,”  said  ^ incent ; “ I want  some  sealing* 
>1 


wax 


2(^4  PELHAM;  OR. 

I desired  no  second  invitation  : we  marched  into  the 
shop.  My  Armida  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  an  old  lady. 
She  blushed  deeply  when  she  saw  us  enter  ; and,  as  ill-luck 
would  have  it,  the  old  lady  concluded  her  purchases  the 
moment  after,  and  they  withdrew. 

‘“Who  had  thought  this  clime  had  held 
A deity  so  unparallel’d  ! ’ ’’ 

justly  observed  my  companion. 

I made  no  reply.  All  the  remainder  of  that  day  I was 
absent  and  reserved  ; and  Vincent,  perceiving  that  I no 
longer  laughed  at  his  jokes,  nor  smiled  at  his  quotations, 
told  me  I was  sadly  changed  for  the  worse,  and  pretended 
an  engagement,  to  rid  himself  of  an  auditor  so  obtuse. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Tout  notre  mal  vient  de  ue  pouvoir  4tre  seuls ; de  <1^  le  jeu,  le  luxe, 
la  dissipation,  le  vin,  les  femmes,  Tignorance,-  la  m^Jisance,  I’envie, 
Poubli  de  soi-meme  et  de  Lieu. 

La  Bruykre. 

The  next  day  I resolved  to  call  upon  Tyrrell,  seeing 
that  he  had  not  yet  kept  his  promise  of  anticipating  me, 
and  being  verv  desirous  not  to  lose  any  opportunity  of 
improving  my  acquaintance  with  him  ; accordingly,  I sent 
my  valet  to  make  inquiries  as  to  his  abode.  I found  that 
he  lodged  in  the  same  hotel  as  myself;  and  having  pre- 
viously ascertained  that  he  was  at  home,  I was  ushered 
by  the  head-waiter  into  the  gamester^s  apartment. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  265 

He  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  a listless,  yet  thoughtful 
attitude.  His  muscular  and  rather  handsome  person  was 
indued  in  a dressing-gown  of  rich  brocade,  thrown  on  with 
a slovenly  7ionchalance.  His  stockings  were  about  his 
heels,  his  hair  was  dishevelled,  and  the  light,  streaming 
through  the  half-drawn  window-curtains,  rested  upon  the 
grey  flakes  with  which  its  darker  luxuriance  was  inter- 
spersed ; and  the  cross  light  in  which  he  had  the  imprudence 
or  misfortune  to  sit,  fully  developed  the  deep  wrinkles 
which  years  and  dissipation  had  planted  round  his  eyes 
and  mouth.  I was  quite  startled  at  the  oldness  and 
haggardness  of  his  appearance. 

He  rose  gracefully  enough  when  I was  announced  ; and 
no  sooner  had  the  waiter  retired,  than  he  came  up  to  me, 
shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  said,  “Let  me  thank 
you  now  for  the  attention  you  formerly  showed  me,  when 
I was  less  able  to  express  my  acknowledgments.  I shall 
be  proud  to  cultivate  your  intimacy.’’ 

I answered  him  in  the  same  strain,  and,  in  the  course 
of  conversation,  made  myself  so  entertaining,  that  he  agreed 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day  with  me.  We  ordered 
our  horses  at  three,  and  our  dinner  at  seven,  and  I left  him 
till  the  former  were  ready,  in  order  to  allow  him  time  for 
his  toilet. 

During  our  ride  we  talked  principally  on  general  sub- 
jects, on  the  various  differences  of  France  and  England, 
on  horses,  on  wines,  on  women,  on  politics,  on  all  things, 
except  that  which  had  created  our  acquaintance.  Ills 
remarks  were  those  of  a strong,  ill-regulated  mind,  which 
L~23 


266 


PELHAM;  OR, 


made  experieLce  supply  the  place  of  the  reasoning  facnl- 
tios  ; there  was  a looseness  in  his  sentiments,  and  a licen- 
tiousness in  his  opinions,  which  startled  even  me  (used  as  I 
had  been  to  rakes  of  all  schools)  : his  philosophy  was  of 
that  species  which  thinks  that  the  best  maxim  of  wisdom  is 

— to  despise.  Of  men  he  spoke  with  the  bitterness  of 
hatred  ; of  women,  with  the  levity  of  contempt.  France  had 
taught  him  its  debaucheries,  but  not  the  elegance  which 
refines  them  : if  his  sentiments  were  low,  the  language  in 
which  they  were  clothed  was  meaner  still : and  that  which 
makes  the  morality  of  the  upper  classes,  and  which  no 
criminal  is  supposed  to  be  hardy  enough  to  reject ; that 
religion  which  has  no  scoffers,  that  code  which  has  no 
impugners,  that  honor  among  gentlemen,  which  constitutes 
the  moving  principle  of  the  society  in  which  they  live,  he 
seemed  to  imagine,  even  in  its  most  fundamental  laws,  was 
an  authority  to  which  nothing  but  the  inexperience  of  the 
young,  and  the  credulity  of  the  romantic,  could  accede. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  seemed  to  me  a “bold,  bad  man,” 
with  just  enough  of  intellect  to  teach  him  to  be  a villain, 
without  that  higher  degree  which  shows  him  that  it  is  the 
worst  course  for  his  interest;  and  just  enough  of  daring 
to  make  him  indifferent  to  the  dangers  of  guilt,  though  it 
was  not  sufficient  to  make  him  conquer  and  control  them. 
For  the  rest,  he  loved  trotting  better  than  canteiing  — 
piqued  himself  upon  being  manly — wore  doe-skin  gloves 

— drank  port  par  preference^  and  considered  beef- 

steaks and  oyster-sauce  as  the  most  delicate  dish  m the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  267 


bill  of  fare.  I think,  now,  reader,  you  have  a tolerably 
good  view  of  his  character. 

After  dinner,  when  we  were  discussing  the  second  bottle, 
I thought  it  would  not  be  a bad  opportunity  to  question 
him  upon  his  acquaintance  with  Glanville.  His  counte- 
nance fell  directly  I mentioned  that  name.  However,  he 
rallied  himself.  Oh,’’  said  he,  *^you  mean  the  soi-disant 
Warburton.  I knew  him  some  years  back — he  was  a 
poor  silly  youth,  half  mad,  I believe,  and  particularly 
hostile  to  me,  owing  to  some  foolish  disagreement  when 
he  was  quite  a boy.” 

“ What  was  the  cause  ? ” said  I. 

“Nothing  — nothing  of  any  consequence,”  answered 
Tyrrell ; and  then  added,  with  an  air  of  coxcombry,  “ I 
believe  I was  more  fortunate  than  he,  in  a certain  intrigue 
Poor  Glanville  is  a little  romantic,  you  know.  But  enough 
of  this  now:  shall  we  go  to  the  rooms?” 

“ With  pleasure,”  said  I ; and  to  the  rooms  we  went. 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Yeteres  revocavit  artes. — Hor. 

Since  I came  hither  I have  heard  strange  news. — King  Lear. 

Two  days  after  my  long  conversation  with  Tyrrell,  I 
called  again  upon  that  worthy.  To  my  great  surprise  he 
had  left  Cheltenham.  I then  strolled  to  Vincent : I found 
him  lolling  on  his  sofa,  surrounded,  as  usual,  with  books 
and  papers. 

Come  in,  Pelham,”  said  be,  as  I hesitated  at  the 
threshold  — ^‘come  in.  I have  been  delighting  myself 
with  Plato  all  the  morning;  I scarcely  know  what  it  is 
that  enchants  us  so  much  with  the  ancients.  I rather 
believe,  with  Schlegel,  that  it  is  that  air  of  perfect  repose 
— the  stillness  of  a deep  soul,  which  rests  over  their  wri* 
tings.  Whatever  would  appear  commonplace  amongst 
us,  has  with  them  I know  not  what  of  sublimity  and  pathos. 
Triteness  seems  the  profundity  of  truth  — wildness,  the 
daring  of  a luxuriant  imagination.  The  fact  is,  that  in 
spite  of  every  fault,  you  see,  through  all,  the  traces  of 
original  thought;  there  is  a contemplative  grandeur  in 
their  sentiments,  which  seems  to  have  nothing  borrowed 
in  its  meaning  or  its  dress.  Take,  for  instance,  this  frag- 
ment of  Mimnermus,  or  the  shortness  of  life,  — what 
subject  can  seem  more  tame  ? — what  less  striking  than  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


260 


feelings  he  expresses  ? — and  yet,  throughout  every  line, 
there  is  a melancholy  depth  and  tenderness,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  define.  Of  all  English  writers  who  partake 
the  most  of  this  spirit  of  conveying  interest  and  strength 
to  sentiments  and  subjects  neither  novel  in  themselves,  nor 
adorned  in  their  arrangement,  I know  none  that  equal 
Byron  : it  is  indeed  the  chief  beauty  of  that  extraordina)  y 
poet.  Examine  Childe  Harold  accurately,  and  you  will 
be  surprised  to  discover  how  very  little  of  real  depth  or 
novelty  there  often  is  in  the  reflections  which  seem  iQost 
deep  and  new.  You  are  enchained  by  the  vague  but 
powerful  beauty  of  the  style  ; the  strong  impress  of  c rigi- 
nality  which  breathes  throughout.  Like  the  orach  of 
Dodona,  he  makes  the  forest  his  tablets,  and  writer  his 
inspirations  upon  the  leaves  of  the  trees  ; but  the  source 
of  that  inspiration  you  cannot  tell ; it  is  neither  the  truth 
nor  the  beauty  of  his  sayings  which  you  admire,  though 
you  fancy  that  it  is  : it  is  the  mystery  which  accompanies 
them.’^ 

Pray,’^  said  I,  do  you  not  imagine  that  one  great 
cause  of  this  spirit  of  which  you  speak,  and  which  seems 
to  be  nothing  more  than  a thoughtful  method  of  express- 
ing all  things,  even  to  trifles,  was  the  great  loneliness  to 
which  the  ancient  poets  and  philosophers  were  attached  ? 
I think  (though  I have  not  your  talent  for  quoting)  that 
Cicero  calls  ‘the  consideration  of  nature  the  food  of  the 
mind,’  and  the  mind  which,  in  solitude,  is  confined  neces- 
sarily to  a few  objects,  meditates  more  closely  upon  those 
it  embraces  ; the  habit  of  this  meditation  enters  and  per- 
23* 


270 


PELHAM;  OR, 


vades  the  system,  and  whatever  afterwards  emanates  from 
it  is  tinctured  with  the  thoughful  and  contemplative  colors 
it  has  received.” 

^‘Wonderful!”  cried  Vincent:  ‘‘how  long  have  you 
learnt  to  read  Cicero,  and  talk  about  the  mind  ? ” 

“Ah,”  said  I,  “ I am  perhaps  less  ignorant  than  I affect 
to  be : it  is  now  my  object  to  be  a dandy ; hereafter  I 
may  aspire  to  be  an  orator  — a wit,  a scholar,  or  a Vin- 
cent. You  will  see  then  that  there  have  been  many  odd 
quarters  of  an  hour  in  my  life  less  unprofitably  wasted 
than  you  imagine.” 

Vincent  rose  in  a sort  of  nervous  excitement,  and  then 
reseating  himself,  fixed  his  dark  bright  eyes  steadfastly 
upon  me  for  some  moments  ; his  countenance  all  the  while 
assuming  a higher  and  graver  expession  than  I had  ever 
before  seen  it  wear. 

“ Pelham,”  said  he,  at  last,  “ it  is  for  the  sake  of  moments 
like  these,  when  your  better  nature  flashes  out,  that  1 have 
sought  your  society  and  your  friendship.  I,  too,  am  not 
wholly  what  I appear  : the  world  may  yet  see  that  Halifax 
was  not  the  only  statesman  whom  the  pursuits  of  literature 
had  only  formed  the  better  for  the  labors  of  business. 
Meanwhile,  let  me  pass  for  the  pedant,  and  the  bookworm  : 
like  a sturdier  adventurer  than  myself,  ‘I  bide  my  time.’ 
— Pelham  — this  will  be  a busy  session  ! shall  you  prepare 
for  it  ?” 

“ Nay,”  answered  I,  relapsing  into  my  usual  tone  of 
languid  affectation  ; “I  shall  have  too  much  to  do  in 
attending  to  Stultz,  and  Nugee,  and  Tattersall  and  Baxter, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


271 


And  a hundred  other  occupiers  of  spare  time.  Remember, 
this  is  rny  first  season  in  London  since  my  majority.' 

Yincent  took  up  the  newspaper  with  evident  chap^rin  ; 
however,  he  was  too  theoretically  the  man  of  the  world 
long  to  show  his  displeasure.  “Parr  — Parr  — again, 
said  he;  “how  they  stuff  the  journals  with  that  name  I 
Heaven  knows,  I venerate  learning  as  much  as  any  man  ; 
but  I respect  it  for  its  uses,  and  not  for  itself.  However,  ' 
I will  not  quarrel  with  his  reputation  — it  is  but  for  a day. 
Literary  men,  who  leave  nothing  but  their  name  to  pos- 
terity, have  but  a short  twilight  of  posthumous  renown. 
Apropos,  do  you  know  my  pun  upon  Parr  and  the  Major.’’ 

“Not  I,”  said  I,  Major  a canamus!” 

“ Why,  Parr  and  I,  and  two  or  three  more,  were  dining 
once  at  poor  T.  M ’s,  the  author  of  ^ The  Indian  An- 
tiquities.’ Major  , a great  traveller,  entered  into  a 

dispute  with  Parr  about  Babylon  ; the  Doctor  got  into 
a violent  passion,  and  poured  out  such  a heap  of  quotations 
on  his  unfortunate  antagonist,  that  the  latter,  stunned  by 
the  clamor,  and  terrified  by  the  Greek,  was  obliged  to 
succumb.  Parr  turned  triumphantly  to  me:  “What  is 
your  opinion,  my  lord,”  said  he  ; who  is  in  the  right  ? ” 

*‘Adversis  major  — par  secundisj'  answered  1. 

“Yincent,”  I said,  after  I had  expressed  sufficient  ad- 
miration at  his  pun  — “ Yincent,  I begin  to  be  weary  of 
this  life  ; I shall  accordingly  pack  up  my  books  and  myself, 
and  go  to  Malvern  Wells,  to  live  quietly  till  I think  it  time 
for  London.  After  to-day  you  will,  therefore,  see  me  no 


more. 


272 


PELHAM;  OR, 


“ I cannot,’^  answered  Yincent,  contravene  so  laudable 
a purpose,  however  I may  be  the  loser. And,  after  a 
short  and  desultory  conversation,  I left  him  once  more  to 
the  tranquil  enjoyment  of  his  Plato.  That  evening  I went 
to  Malvern,  and  there  I remained  in  a monotonous  state  of 
existence,  dividing  my  time  equally  between  my  mind  and 
my  body,  and  forming  myself  into  that  state  of  contempla- 
* live  reflection,  which  was  the  object  of  YincenPs  admira- 
tion in  the  writings  of  the  ancients. 

Just  w^hen  I was  on  the  point  of  leaving  my  retreat,  I 
received  an  intelligence  which  most  materially  affected  my 
future  prospects.  My  uncle,  who  had  arrived  at  the  sober 
age  of  fifty,  without  any  apparent  designs  of  matrimony, 
fell  suddenly  in  love  with  a lady  in  his  immediate  neigh- 
borhood, and  married  her,  after  a courtship  of  three 
w^eeks. 

I should  not,’’  said  my  poor  mother,  very  generously, 
in  a subsequent  letter,  so  much  have  minded  his  marriage, 
if  the  lady  had  not  thought  proper  to  become  in  the  family 
way  ; a thing  which  I do  and  always  shall  consider  a most 
unwarrantable  encroachment  on  your  rights.” 

I will  confess  that,  on  first  hearing  this  news,  I expe- 
rienced a bitter  pang : but  I reasoned  it  away.  I was 
already  under  great  obligations  to  my  uncle,  and  I felt  it 
a very  unjust  and  ungracious  assumption  on  my  part,  to 
affect  anger  at  conduct  I had  no  right  to  question,  or 
mortification  at  the  loss  of  pretensions  I had  so  equivocal 
a privilege  to  form.  A man  of  fifty  has,  perhaps^  a right 
to  consult  his  own  happiness,  almost  as  much  as  a man 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


273 


of  thirty ; and  if  he  attracts  by  his  choice  the  ridicule  of 
those  whom  he  has  never  obliged,  it  is  at  least  from  those 
persons  he  has  obliged,  that  he  is  to  look  for  countenance 
and  defence. 

Fraught  with  these  ideas,  I wrote  to  my  uncle  a sincere 
and  warm  letter  of  congratulation.  His  answer  was,  like 
himself,  kind,  affectionate,  and  generous ; it  informed  me 
that  he  had  already  made  over  to  me  the  annual  sum  of 
one  thousand  pounds  ; and  that  in  case  of  his  having  a 
lineal  heir,  he  had,  moreover,  settled  upon  me,  after  his 
death,  two  thousand  a-year.  He  ended  by  assuring  me 
that  his  only  regret  at  marrying  a lady  who,  in  all  respects 
was,  above  all  women,  calculated  to  make  him  happy,  was 
his  unfeigned  reluctance  to  deprive  me  of  a station,  which 
(he  was  pleased  to  say)  I not  only  deserved,  but  should 
adorn. 

Upon  receiving  this  letter,  I was  sensibly  affected  with 
my  uncle’s  kindness  ; and  so  far  from  repining  at  his  choice 
I most  heartily  wished  him  every  blessing  it  could  afford 
him,  even  though  an  heir  to  the  titles  of  Glenmorris  were 
one  of  them. 

I protracted  my  stay  at  Malvern  some  weeks  longer  than 
I had  intended  : the  circumstance  which  had  wrought  so 
great  a change  in  my  fortune,  wrought  no  less  powertully 
on  my  character.  I became  more  thoughtfully  and  solidly 
ambitious.  Instead  of  wasting  my  time  in  idle  regrets  at 
the  station  I had  lost,  I rather  resolved  to  carve  out  for 
myself  one  still  lofty  and  more  universally  acknowledged. 
I determined  to  exercise,  to  their  utmost,  the  little  ability 

s 


274 


PELKAM;  OR, 


and  knor^ledge  I possessed  ; and  while  the  increase  of 
income,  derived  from  my  uncle^s  generosity,  furnished  me 
with  what  was  necessary  for  my  luxury,  I was  resolved 
that  it  should  not  encourage  me  in  the  indulgence  of  my 
indolence. 

In  this  mood,  and  with  these  intentions,  I repaired  to 
the  metropolis. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Cum  pulchris  tunicis  sumet  nova  consilia  et  spes.  — Hob. 

And  look  always  that  they  be  shape. 

What  garment  that  thou  shalt  make 
Of  him  that  can  best  do 

With  all  that  pertaineth  thereto. — Rom.  of  the  Rose. 

How  well  I can  remember  the  feelings  with  which  I 
entered  London,  and  took  possession  of  the  apartments 
prepared  for  me  at  Mivart’s  ! A year  had  made  a vast 
alteration  in  my  mind  ; I had  ceased  to  regard  pleasure 
for  its  own  sake  ; I rather  coveted  its  enjoyments,  as  the 
great  sources  of  worldly  distinction.  I was  not  the  less 
a coxcomb  than  heretofore,  nor  the  less  fastidious  in  my 
horses  and  my  dress  ; but  I viewed  these  matters  in  a light 
wholly  different  from  that  in  which  I had  hitherto  regarded 
them.  Beneath  all  the  carelessness  of  my  exterior,  my 
mind  was  close,  keen,  and  inquiring ; and  under  all  the 


ADVENTUltfiS  CF  A GENTLEMAN 


275 


affectations  of  foppery,  and  the  levity  of  manner,  I veiled 
an  ambition  the  most  extensive  in  its  objects,  and  a reso' 
lution  the  most  daring  in  the  accomplishment  of  its  means. 

I was  still  lounging  over  my  breakfast,  on  the  second 

morning  of  my  arrival,  when  Mr. , the  tailor,  was 

announced. 

Good  morning,  Mr.  Pelham ; happy  to  see  you  returned 
Do  I disturb  you  too  early  ? shall  I wait  on  you  again  ? 

No,  Mr. , I am  ready  to  receive  you.  You  may 

renew  my  measure.’^ 

“We  are  a very  good  figure,  Mr.  Pelham  ; very  good 
figure,”  replied  the  Schneider,  surveying  me  from  head  to 
foot,  while  he  waspreparing  his  measure;  “we  want  a 
little  assistance  though  ; we  must  be  padded  well  here,  w^e 
must  have  our  chest  thrown  out,  and  have  an  additional 
inch  across  the  shoulders ; we  must  live  for  effect  in  this 
world,  Mr.  Pelham  ; a leetle  tighter  round  the  waist,  eh  ? ” 

“ Mr. ,”  said  I,  “ you  will  take,  first,  my  exact 

measure,  and,  secondly,  my  exact  instructions.  Have  you 
done  the  first  ? ” 

“We  are  done  now,  Mr.  Pelham,”  replied  my  man- 
maker j in  a slow,  solemn  tone. 

“ You  will  have  the  goodness  then  to  put  no  stuffing  of 
any  description  in  my  coat ; you  will  not  pinch  me  an  iota 
tighter  across  the  waist  than  is  natural  to  that  part  of  my 
body ; and  you  will  please,  in  your  infinite  mercy,  to  leave 
me  as  much  after  the  fashion  in  which  God  made  me,  as 
you  possibly  can.” 


276 


PELHAM  J Oil, 


‘‘But,  sir,  we  must  be  padded  ; we  are  iijuch  too  thin  ; 
all  the  gentlemen  in  the  Life  Guards  are  padded,  sir.’^ 

“Mr. answered  I,  “you  will  please  to  speak  of 

us  with  a separate,  and  not  a collective  pronoun  ; and  you 
will  let  me  for  once  have  my  clothes  such  as  a gentleman, 
who,  I beg  of  you  to  understand,  is  not  a Life  Guardsman, 
can  wear  without  being  mistaken  for  a Guy  Fawkes  on  a 
fifth  of  November. 

Mr.- looked  very  discomfited:  “We  shall  not  be 

liked,  sir,  when  we  are  made  — we  shan’t,  I assure  you. 
I will  call  on  Saturday  at  eleven  o’clock.  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Pelham ; we  shall  never  be  done  justice  to,  if  we  do 
not  live  for  effect ; good  morning,  Mr.  Pelham.” 

And  here,  as  I am  weary  of  tailors,  let  me  reflect  a little 
upon  that  divine  art  of  which  they  are  the  professors. 
Alas,  for  the  instability  of  all  human  sciences  ! A few 
short  months  ago,  in  the  first  edition  of  this  memorable 
work,  I laid  down  rules  for  costume,  the  value  of  which 
Fashion  begins  already  to  destroy.  The  thoughts  which 
I shall  now  embody,  shall  be  out  of  the  reach  of  that  great 
innovator,  and  applicable  not  to  one  age,  but  to  all.  To 
the  sagacious  reader,  who  has  already  discovered  what 
portions  of  this  work  are  writ  in  irony — what  in  earnest 
— I fearlessly  commit  these  maxims  ; beseeching  him  to 
believe,  with  Sterne,  that  “ everything  is  big  with  jest,  and 
has  wit  in  it,  and  instruction  too, — if  we  can  but  find  it 
out  1 ” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


277 


MAXIMS. 

I. 

Do  not  require  your  dress  so  much  to  fit  as  to  adorn 
you.  Nature  is  not  to  be  copied,  but  to  be  exalted  by 
art.  Apelles  blamed  Protogenes  for  being  too  natural. 

II. 

Never  in  your  dress  altogether  desert  that  taste  which 
is  general.  The  world  considers  ecv^entricity  in  great 
things  genius  ; in  small  things,  folly. 

III. 

Always  remember  that  you  dress  to  fascinate  others, 
not  yourself. 

lY. 

Keep  your  mind  free  from  all  violent  affectations  at  the 
hour  of  the  toilet.  A philosophical  serenity  is  perfectly 
necessary  to  success.  Helvetius  says  justly,  that  our  errors 
arise  from  our  passions. 

Y. 

Remember  that  none  but  those  whose  courage  is  un- 
questionable, can  venture  to  be  effeminate.  It  was  only 
in  the  field  that  the  Spartans  were  accustomed  to  use 
perfumes  and  curl  their  hair. 

YI. 

Never  let  the  finery  of  chains  and  rings  seem  your  oion 
choice ; that  which  naturally  belongs  to  women  should 
appear  only  worn  for  their  sake.  We  dignify  foppery, 
when  we  invest  it  with  a sen'iment. 

t.-— 24 


278 


PELHAM;  OR, 


YII. 

To  win  the  affection  of  your  mistress,  appear  negligent 
in  your  costume  — to  preserve  it,  assiduous  : the  first  is  a 
sign  of  the  passion  of  love  ; the  second,  of  its  respect. 

YIII. 

A man  must  be  a profound  calculator  to  be  a consum- 
mate dresser.  One  must  not  dress  the  same,  whether  one 
goes  to  a minister  or  mistress ; an  avaricious  uncle,  or  an 
ostentatious  cousin  : there  is  no  diplomacy  more  subtle 
than  that  of  dress. 

IX. 

Is  the  great  man  whom  you  would  conciliate  a coxcomb  ? 
— go  to  him  in  a waistcoat  like  his  own.  Imitation,’^ 
says  the  author  of  Lacon,  “is  the  sincerest  flattery. 

X. 

The  handsome  may  be  showy  in  dress,  the  plain  should 
study  to  be  unexceptionable  ; just  as  in  great  men  we  look 
for  something  to  admire  — in  ordinary  men  we  ask  for 
nothing  to  forgive. 


XL 

There  is  a study  of  dress  for  the  aged,  as  well  as  for  the 
young.  Inattention  is  no  less  indecorous  in  one  than  in 
the  other  ; we  may  distinguish  the  taste  appropriate  to 
each,  by  the  reflection  that  youth  is  made  to  be  loved  — 
age  to  be  resoected. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


279 


XIL 

A fool  may  dress  gaudily,  but  a fool  cannot  dress  well 
— for  to  dress  well  requires  judgment ; and  Rochefoucault 
says  with  truth,  On  est  quelt^ue  fois  un  sot  avec  de  Vesprit, 
mats  on  ne  Vest  jamais  avec  du  jugementV’ 

XIIL 

There  may  be  more  pathos  in  the  fall  of  a collar,  or  the 
curl  of  a lock,  than  the  shallow  think  for.  Should  we  be 
so  apt  as  we  are  now  to  compassionate  the  misfortunes, 
and  to  forgive  the  insincerity  of  Charles  L,  if  his  pictures 
had  portrayed  him  in  a bob-wig  and  a pig-tail  ? Vandyke 
was  a greater  sophist  than  Hume. 

XIV. 

The  most  graceful  principle  of  dress  is  neatness  — the 
most  vulgar  is  preciseness. 

XV. 

Dress  contains  the  two  codes  of  morality  — private  and 
public.  Attention  is  the  duty  we  owe  to  others — clean- 
liness that  which  we  owe  to  ourselves. 

XVI. 

Dress  so  that  it  may  never  be  said  of  you  What  a 
well-dressed  man  ! — but,  What  a gentlemanlylike 
man  1 

XVII. 

Avoid  many  colors  ; and  seek,  by  some  one  prevalent 
and  quiet  tint,  to  sober  down  the  others.  Apelles  used 
only  four  colors,  and  always  subdued  those  which  were 
more  florid,  by  a darkening  varnish. 


280 


jt>ELHAxM;  OR, 


^ XYIII. 

Xothing  is  superficial  to  a deep  observer  1 It  is  lu 
trifles  that  the  mind  betrays  itself.  “ In  what  part  of  that 
letter,”  said  a king  to  the  wisest  of  living  diplomatists, 
“ did  you  discover  irresolution  ? ” — “ In  its  ns  and  gs  / ” 
was  the  answer. 

XIX. 

A very  benevolent  man  will  never  shock  the  feelings  of 
others,  by  an  excess  either  of  inattention  or  display : you 
may  doubt,  therefore,  the  philanthropy  both  of  a sloven 
and  a fop. 

XX. 

There  is  an  indifference  to  please  in  a stocking  down  at 
heel — but  there  may  be  malevolence  in  a diamond  ring. 

XXI. 

Inventions  in  dressing  should  resemble  Addison’s  defi- 
nition of  fine  writing,  and  consist  of  “refinements  which 
are  natural,  without  being  obvious.” 

XXII. 

He  who  esteems  trifles  for  themselves,  is  a trifler  — 
he  who  esteems  them  for  the  conclusions  to  be  drawn  from 
them,  or  the  advantage  to  which  they  can  be  put,  is  a 
philosopher. 


ADVENTUKiiS  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


281 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Tantot,  Monseigneur  le  Marquis  a cheval — 

Tantot,  Monsieur  du  Mozin  de  bout ! — U Art  de  se  Fromener  d OTievaL 

My  cabriolet  was  at  the  door,  and  I was  preparing  to 
enter,  when  I saw  a groom  managing,  with  difficulty,  a 
remarkably  fine  and  spirited  horse.  As,  at  that  time,  I 
was  chiefly  occupied  with  the  desire  of  making  as  perfect 
a stud  as  my  fortune  would  allow,  I sent  my  cab  boy  {vulgd 
Tiger)  to  inquire  of  the  groom,  whether  the  horse  was  to 
be  sold,  and  to  whom  it  belonged, 

“It  was  not  to  be  disposed  of,’’  was  the  answer,  “ and 
it  belonged  to  Sir  Reginald  Glanville.” 

The  name  thrilled  through  me  ; I drove  after  the  groom, 
and  inquired  Sir  Reginald  Glanville’s  address.  His  house, 
the  groom  informed  me,  was  at  Xo.  — Pall  Mall.  I 
resolved  to  call  that  day,  but,  as  the  groom  said  that  he 
was  rarely  at  home  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  I drove  first 
to  Lady  Roseville’s  to  talk  about  Almack’s  and  the  beau 
monde,  and  be  initiated  into  the  newest  scandal  and  satire 
of  the  day. 

Lady  Roseville  was  at  home  ; I found  the  room  half 
full  of  women  : the  beautiful  countess  was  one  of  the  few 
persons  extant  who  admit  people  of  a morning.  She 

Teceived  me  with  marked  kindness.  Seeing  that , 

24* 


282 


P E L HA  M ; OR, 


who  was  esteemed,  among  his  friends,  the  handsomest  man 
Df  the  day,  had  risen  from  his  seat,  next  to  Lady  Roseville, 
in  order  to  make  room  for  me,  I negligently  and  quietly 
dropped  into  it,  and  answered  his  grave  and  angry  stare 
at  my  presumption,  with  my  very  sweetest  and  most  con- 
descending smile.  Heaven  be  praised,  the  handsomest 
man  of  the  day  is  never  the  chief  object  in  the  room,  when 
Henry  Pelham  and  his  guardian  angel,  termed  by  his 
enemies,  his  self-esteem,  once  enter  it. 

I rattled  on  through  a variety  of  subjects  till  Lady 
Roseville  at  last  said  laughingly,  “ I see,  Mr.  Pelham, 
that  you  have  learned,  at  least,  the  art  of  making  the 
frais  of  the  conversation  since  your  visit  to  Paris.’’ 

I understand  you,”  answered  1 ; “ you  mean  that  I 
talk  too  much  ; it  is  true  — I own  the  offence — nothing 
is  so  unpopular  ! Even  I,  the  civilest,  best-natured,  most 
unaffected  person  in  all  Europe,  am  almost  disliked,  posi- 
tively disliked,  for  that  sole  and  simple  crime.  Ah  I the 
most  beloved  man  in  society  is  that  deaf  and  dumb  person, 
comment  s^appelle-t-il  ? ” 

Yes,”  said  Lady  Roseville,  Popularity  is  a goddess 
best  worshipped  by  negatives  ; and  the  fewer  claims  one 
has  to  be  admired,  the  more  pretensions  one  has  to  be 
beloved.” 

Perfectly  true,  in  general,”  said  I — ^‘for  instance, 
I make  the  rule,  and  you  the  exception.  I,  a perfect 
paragon,  am  hated  because  I am  one  ; you,  a perfect 
paragon,  are  idolized  in  spite  of  it.  But  tell  me,  what 
literary  news  is  there  ? I am  tired  of  the  trouble  of  idle- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  283 


ness,  and  in  order  to  enjoy  a little  dignified  leisure,  intend 
to  set  up  as  a savant.’’^ 

Oh,  Lady  C is  going  to  write  a Commentary 

on  Ude  ; and  Madame  de  Genlis  a Proof  of  the  Apocrypha. 
The  Duke  of  N e is  publishing  a Treatise  on  ^ Tolera- 
tion ; ^ and  Lord  L an  Essay  on  ^ Self-knowledge. 

As  for  news  more  remote,  I hear  that  the  Dey  of  Algiers 
is  finishing  an  ‘Ode  to  Liberty,’  and  the  College  of  Caf- 
fraria  preparing  a volume  of  voyages  to  the  North  Pole  ! ” 
‘‘Now,”  said  I,  “if  I retail  this  information  with  a 
serious  air,  I will  lay  a wager  that  I find  plenty  of  believers  ; 
for  fiction,  uttered  solomnly,  is  much  more  like  probability 
than  truth  uttered  doubtingly : — else  how  do  the  priests 
of  Brama  and  Mahomet  live  ? ” 

“Ah  I now  you  grow  too  profound,  Mr.  Pelham  ! ” 

“ G^est  vrai  — but  — ” 

“Tell  me,”  interrupted  Lady  Roseville,  “how  it  hap- 
pens that  you,  who  talk  eruditely  enough  upon  matter 
of  erudition,  should  talk  so  lightly  upon  mattes  of  levity  ? ” 
“ Why,”  said  I,  rising  to  depart,  “ very  great  minds 
are  apt  to  think  that  all  which  they  set  any  value  upon,  is 
of  equal  importance.  Thus  Hesiod,  who,  you  know,  was 
a capital  poet,  though  rather  an  imitator  of  Shenstone, 
tells  us  that  God  bestowed  valor  on  some  men,  and  on 
others  a genius  for  dancing.  It  was  reserved  for  me. 
Lady  Roseville,  to  unite  the  two  perfections.  Adieu  ! ” 
“ Thus,”  said  I,  when  I was  once  more  alone  — “thus 
do  we  ‘ play  the  fools  with  the  time,’  until  Fate  brings 
that  which  is  better  than  folly ; and,  standing  idly  upon 


284 


PELHAM;  OR, 


^be  sea-shore,  till  we  can  catch  the  favoring  wind  which 
is  to  waft  the  vessel  of  oar  destiny  to  enterprise  and  fortune, 
amuse  ourselves  with  the  weeds  and  the  pebbles  which  are 
within  our  reach  I 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

There  was  a youth  who,  as  with  toil  and  travel, 

Had  grown  qtiite  weak  and  grey  before  his  t.me; 

Nor  any  could  the  restless  grief  unravel 

Which  burned  within  him,  withering  up  his  prime. 

And  goading  him,  like  fiends,  from  land  to  land. — 

P.  B.  Shelley. 

From  Lady  Roseville’s  I went  to  Glanville’s  house.  He 
was  at  home.  I was  ushered  into  a beautiful  apartment, 
hung  with  rich  damask,  and  interspersed  with  a profusion 
of  mirrors.  Beyond,  to  the  right  of  this  room,  was  a small 
closet,  fitted  up  with  books.  This  room,  evidently  a 
favorite  retreat,  was  adorned  at  close  intervals  with  gir- 
andoles of  silver  and  mother-of-pearl ; the  handles  of  the 
doors  were  of  the  same  material. 

This  closet  opened  upon  a spacious  and  lofty  saloon, 
the  walls  of  which  were  covered  with  the  masterpieces  of 
Flemish  and  Italian  art.  Through  this  apartment  I was 
led,  by  the  obsequious  and  bowing  valet,  into  a fourth 
room,  in  which,  negligently  robed  in  his  dressing-gown, 
sate  Reginald  Glanville  : — “ Good  Heavens,”  thought  I, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  285 

as  1 approached  him,  ^‘can  this  be  the  man  who  made  his 
residence,  by  choice,  in  a miserable  hovel,  exposed  to  all 
the  damps,  winds,  and  vapors,  that  the  prolific  generosity 
of  an  English  Heaven  ever  begot  ? ’’ 

Our  meeting  was  cordial  in  the  extreme.  01anville> 
though  still  pale  and  thin,  appeared  in  much  better  health 
than  I had  yet  seen  him  since  our  boyhood.  He  was,  or 
affected  to  be,  in  the  most  joyous  spirits  ; and  when  his 
blue  eye  lighted  up,  in  answer  to  the  merriment  of  his  lips, 
and  his  noble  and  glorious  cast  of  countenance  shone  out, 
as  if  it  had  never  been  clouded  by  grief  or  passion,  I 
thought  as  I looked  at  him,  that  I had  never  seen  so 
perfect  a specimen  of  masculine  beauty,  at  once  physical 
arid  intellectual. 

f 

My  dear  Pelham,’’  said  Glanville,  ‘Met  ns  see  a great 
deal  of  each  other : I live  very  much  alone  : I have  an 
excellent  cook  sent  me  over  from  France  by  the  celebrated 

gourtnand  Marechal  de . I dine  every  day  exactly 

at  eight,  and  never  accept  an  invitation  to  dine  elsewhere 
My  table  is  always  laid  fur  three,  and  you  will,  therefore, 
be  sure  of  finding  a dinner  here  every  day  you  have  no 
better  engagement.  What  think  you  of  my  taste  in 
pictures  ? ” 

“I  have  only  to  say,”  answered  I,  ^Mhat  since  I am  so 
often  to  dine  with  you,  I hope  your  taste  in  wines  will  be 
one-half  as  good.” 

“ We  are  all,”  said  Glanville,  with  a faint  smile,  “ we 
are  all,  in  the  words  of  the  true  old  proverb,  ‘ children  of 
a larger  growth.’  Our  first  toy  is  love- — our  second, 


286 


PELHAM;  OR, 


display,  according  as  our  ambition  prompts  us  to  exert  it. 
Some  place  it  in  horses  — some  in  honors,  some  in  feasts, 
and  some — void  un  exemple  — in  furniture  or  pictures. 
So  true  it  is,  Pelham,  that  our  earliest  longings  are  the 
purest ; in  love,  we  covet  goods  for  the  sake  of  the  one 
beloved  : in  display,  for  our  own  : thus,  our  first  stratum 
of  mind  produces  fruit  for  others  ; our  second  becomes 
niggardly,  and  bears  only  sufficient  for  ourselves.  But 
enough  of  my  morals  — will  you  drive  me  out,  if  I drc^"’ 
quicker  than  you  ever  saw  man  dress  before  ? 

‘‘  No,’’  said  I ; “ for  I make  it  a rule  never  to  drive  out  a 
badly-dressed  friend  ; take  time,  and  I will  let  you  accom- 
pany me.” 

So  be  it^  then.  Do  you  ever  read  ? if  so,  my  books 
are  made  to  be  opened,  and  you  may  toss  them  over  while 
I am  at  my  toilet.  Look  — here  are  two  works,  one  of 
poetry  — one  on  the  Catholic  Question  — both  dedicated 
to  me.  Seymour  — my  waistcoat.  See  what  it  is  to 
furnish  a house  differently  from  other  people  ; one  becomes 
a hel  esprit,  and  a Mecmnas,  immediately.  Believe  me, 
if  you  are  rich  enough  to  afford  it,  that  there  is  no  passport 
to  fame  like  eccentricity.  Seymour  — my  coat.  I am  at 
your  service,  Pelham.  Believe  hereafter  that  one  may 
dress  well  in  a short  time  I ” 

One  may  do  it,  but  not  tivo  — allonsP^ 

I observed  that  Glanville  was  dressed  in  the  deepest 
mourning,  and  imagined,  from  that  circumstance,  and  his 
accession  to  the  title  I heard  applied  to  him  for  the  first 
time,  that  his  father  was  only  just  dead.  In  this  opinion 


ADVENTURES  OP  A QENTELMAN.  28t 

I was  soon  undeceived.  He  had  been  dead  for  some  years. 
Glanville  spoke  to  me  of  his  family  ; — “To  my  mother/^ 
said  he,  I am  particularly  anxious  to  introduce  you  ; of 
my  sister  I say  nothing  ; I expect  you  to  be  surprised  with 
her.  I love  her  more  than  any  thing  on  earth  now,^^  and 
as  Glanville  said  this,  a paler  shade  passed  over  his  face. 

We  were  in  the  Park  — Lady  Roseville  passed  us  — 
we  both  bowed  to  her  ; as  she  returned  our  greeting,  I 
was  struck  with  the  deep  and  sudden  blush  which  over- 
spread her  countenance.  “ That  can’t  be  for  me  ? ” thought 
I.  I looked  towards  Glanville ; his  countenance  had 
recovered  its  serenity,  and  was  settled  into  its  usual  proud, 
but  not  displeasing,  calmness  of  expression. 

“ Do  you  know  Lady  Roseville  well  ? ” said  I. 

“ Yery,”  answered  Glanville,  laconically,  and  changed 
the  conversation.  As  we  were  leaving  the  Park,  through 
Cumberland  Gate,  we  were  stopped  by  a blockade  of  car- 
riages ; a voice,  loud,  harsh,  and  vulgarly  accented^  called 
out  to  Glanville  by  his  name.  I turned,  and  saw  Thornton. 

“ For  Heaven’s  sake,  Pelham,  drive  on,”  cried  Glanville ; 
*Met  me,  for  once,  escape  that  atrocious  plebeian.” 

Thornton  was  crossing  the  road  towards  us  ; I waved 
my  hand  to  him  civilly  enough  (for  1 never  cut  anybody^, 
and  drove  rapidly  through  the  other  gate,  without  appear- 
ing to  notice  his  design  of  speaking  to  us. 

“ Thank  Heaven  1 ” said  Glanville,  and  sank  back  in  a 
reverie,  from  which  I could  nat  awaken  him,  till  he  was 
set  down  at  his  own  door. 


2S8 


PELHAM;  OR, 


When  I returned  to  Mivart’s,  I found  a card  from 
Lord  Dawton,  and  a letter  from  my  mother. 

“ My  dear  Hexry,  (began  the  letter,) 

Lord  Dawton  having  kindly  promised  to  call  upon 
you,  personally,  with  this  note,  I cannot  resist  the  oppor- 
tunity that  promise  affords  me,  of  saying  how  desirous  I 
am  that  you  should  cultivate  his  acquaintance.  He  is, 
you  know,  among  the  most  prominent  leaders  of  the 
Opposition  : and  should  the  Whigs,  by  any  possible  chance, 
ever  come  into  power,  he  would  have  a great  chance  of 
becoming  prime  minister.  I trust,  however,  that  you  will 
not  adopt  that  side  of  the  question.  The  Whigs  a, re  a 
horrid  set  of  people  {politically  speaking),  vote  for  the 
Roman  Catholics,  and  never  get  into  place  ; they  give 
very  good  dinners,  however,  and  till  you  have  decided 
upon  your  politics,  you  may  as  well  make  the  most  of 
them.  1 hope,  by-the-by,  that  you  will  see  a great  deal 
of  Lord  Vincent : every  one  speaks  highly  of  his  talents  ; 
and  only  two  weeks  ago,  he  said,  publicly,  that  he  thought 
you  the  most  promising  young  man,  and  the  most  naturally 
clever  person,  he  had  ever  met.  I hope  that  you  will 

be  attentive  to  your  parliamentary  duties  ; and, oh, 

Henry,  be  sure  that  you  see  Cartwright,  the  dentist,  as 
soon  as  possible. 

I intend  hastening  to  London  three  weeks  earlier  than 
I had  intended,  in  order  .to  be  useful  to  you.  I have 
written  already  to  dear  Lady  Roseville,  begging  her  to 
introduce  you  at  Lady  C.’s,  and  Lady ; the  only 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


289 


places  worth  going  to  at  present.  They  tell  me  there  is  a 

horrid,  vulgar,  ignorant  book  come  out  about . As 

you  ought  to  be  well  versed  in  modern  literature,  I hope 
you  will  read  it,  and  give  me  your  opinion.  Adieu,  my 
dear  Henry,  ever  your  affectionate  mother, 

Frances  Pelham.’^ 

1 was  still  at  my  solitary  dinner,  when  the  following 
note  was  brought  me  from  Lady  Roseville  : — 

I 

Dear  Mr.  Pelham, 

Lady  Frances  wishes  Lady  C to  be  made  ac- 

quainted with  you ; this  is  her  night,  and  I therefore 

enclose  you  a card.  As  I dine  at  House,  I shall 

have  an  opportunity  of  making  your  Hoge  before  your 
arrival.  Your’s  sincerely, 

“ C.  Roseville.’’ 

I wonder,  thought  I,  as  I made  my  toilet,  whether  or 
not  Lady  Roseville  is  enamoured  of  her  new  correspon- 
dent ? I went  very  early,  and  before  I retired,  my  vanity 
w^as  undeceived.  Lady  Roseville  was  playing  ecarte,  when 
I entered.  She  beckoned  to  me  to  approach.  I did. 
Her  antagonist  was  Mr.  Bedford,  a natural  son  of  the 
Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  and  one  of  the  best  natured  and  best 
looking  dandies  about  town  : there  was,  of  course,  a great 
crowd  round  the  table.  Lady  Roseville  played  incom- 
parably ; bets  were  high  in  her  favor.  Suddenly  her 
countenance  changed  — her  hand  trembled  — her  presence 
or  mind  forsook  her.  She  lost  the  game.  I looked  up, 
and  saw  just  opposite  to  her,  but  apparently  quite  careless 

I.  — 25  T 


290 


PELHAM;  OR 


and  unmoved,  Reginald  Glanville.  We  had  only  time  to 
exchange  nods,  for  Lady  R oseville,  rising  from  the  table, 
took  my  arm,  and  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
in  order  to  introduce  me  to  my  hostess. 

I spoke  to  her  a few  words,  but  she  was  absent  and 
inattentive  ; my  penetration  required  no  farther  proof  to 
convince  me  that  she  was  not  wholly  insensible  to  the 

attractions  of  Glanville.  Lady was  as  civil  and  silly 

as  the  generality  of  Lady  Blanks  are  : and  feeling  very 
much  bored,  I soon  retired  to  an  obscurer  corner  of  the 
room.  Here  Glanville  joined  me. 

It  is  but  seldom,’^  said  he,  that  I come  to  these 
places  ; to-night  my  sister  persuaded  me  to  venture  forth.^’ 
Is  she  here  ? said  I. 

“She  is,’^  answered  he;  “she  has  just  gone  into  the 
refreshment-room  with  my  mother  ; and  when  she  returns, 
I will  introduce  you.’’ 

While  Glanville  was  yet  speaking,  three  middle-aged 
ladles,  who  had  been  talking  together  with  great  vehe- 
mence for  the  last  ten  minutes,  approached  us. 

“ Which  is  he  ? — which  is  he  ? ” said  two  of  them,  in 
no  inaudible  accents. 

“ This,”  replied  the  third  ; and  coming  up  to  Glanville, 
she  addressed  him,  to  my  great  astonishment,  in  terms  of 
the  most  hyperbolical  panegyric. 

“ Your  work  is  wonderful  ! wonderful  ! ” said  she. 

“ Oh  ! quite  — quite  I ” echoed  the  other  two. 

“I  can’t  say,”  recommended  the  Coryphcea,  “that  I 
like  the  moral — at  least  not  quite  ; no,  not  quite 

“ Not  quite,”  repeated  her  coadjutrices. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  291 

Glanville  drew  himself  up  with  his  most  stately  air,  and 
after  three  profound  bows,  accompanied  by  a smile  of  the 
most  unequivocal  contempt,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
sauntered  away. 

‘‘  Did  your  grace  ever  see  such  a bear  ? said  one  of 
the  echoes. 

“ Never,’’  said  the  Duchess,  with  a mortified  air  ; ^'but 
1 will  have  him  yet.  How  handsome  he  is,  for  an  author  ! ” 

1 was  descending  the  stairs  in  the  last  state  of  ennui, 
when  Glanville  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

“ Shall  I take  you  home  ?”  said  he  : “ my  carriage  has 
just  drawn  up.” 

I was  too  glad  to  answer  in  the  affirmative. 

How  long  have  you  been  an  author  ? ” said  I,  when  we 
were  seated  in  Glanville’s  carriage. 

‘‘Not  many  days,”  he  replied.  “ I have  tried  one  re- 
source after  another  — all  — all  in  vain.  Oh,  God  ! that 
for  me  there  could  exist  such  a blessing  fiction  I Must 
I be  ever  the  martyr  of  one  burning,  lasting,  indelible 
truth 

Glanville  uttered  these  words  with  a peculiar  wildness 
and  energy  of  tone  : he  then  paused  abruptly  for  a minute, 
and  continued,  with  an  altered  voice  — 

“Never,  my  dear  Pelham,  be  tempted  by  any  induce- 
ment into  the  pleasing  errors  of  print ; from  that  moment 
you  are  public  property  ; and  the  last  monster  at  Exeter 
’Change  has  more  liberty  than  you  ; but  here  we  are  at 
Mivart’s.  Adieu  — I will  call  on  you  to-morrow,  if  my 
wretched  state  of  health  will  allow  me.” 

And  with  these  words  we  parted. 


292 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Ambition  is  a lottery,  where,  however  uneven  the  chances,  there 
^e  some  prizes ; but  in  dissipation,  every  one  draws  a blank. 

Letters  of  Stephen  Montague. 

The  season  was  not  far  advanced  before  I grew  heartily 
ti^’ed  of  what  are  nicknamed  its  gaieties ; I shrank,  by 
rapid  degrees,  into  a very  small  orbit,  from  which  I rarely 
moved.  I had  already  established  a certain  reputation 
for  eccentricity,  fashion,  and  to  my  great  astonishment,  also 
for  talent ; and  my  pride  was  satisfied  with  finding  myself 
universally  run  after,  whilst  I indulged  my  inclinations 
by  rendering  myself  universally  scarce.  I saw  much  of 
Vincent,  whose  varied  acquirements  and  great  talents 
became  more  and  more  perceptible,  both  as  my  own  ac- 
quaintance with  him  increased,  and  as  the  political  events 
with  which  that  year  was  pregnant,  called  forth  their  exer- 
tion and  display.  I went  occasionally  to  Lady  Roseville’s, 
and  was  always  treated  rather  as  a long-known  friend, 
than  an  ordinary  acquaintance ; nor  did  I undervalue  this 
distinction,  for  it  was  part  of  her  pride  to  render  her 
house  not  only  as  splendid,  but  as  agreeable,  as  her  com- 
mand over  society  enabled  her  to  effect. 

At  the  House  of  Commons  my  visits  would  have  been 
duly  paid,  but  for  one  trifling  occurrence,  upon  which,  as 
It  is  a very  sore  subject  I shall  dwell  as  briefly  as  possible 


^^V'ENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


29S 


I had  scarcely  taken  my  seat,  before  I was  forced  to  relin- 
quish it.  My  unsuccessful  opponent,  Mr.  Lufton,  preferred 
a petition  against  me,  for  what  he  called  undue  means. 
Heaven  knows  what  he  meant ; I am  sure  the  House  did 
not,  for  they  turned  me  out,  and  declared  Mr.  Lufton  duly 
elected. 

Never  was  there  such  a commotion  in  the  Glenmorris 
family  before.  My  uncle  was  seized  with  the  gout  in  his 
stomach,  and  my  mother  shut  herself  up  with  Tremaine 
and  one  China  monster  for  a whole  week.  As  for  me, 
though  I writhed  at  heart,  I bore  the  calamity  philosophi- 
cally enough  in  external  appearance  ; nor  did  I the  less 
busy  myself  in  political  matters  : with  what  address  and 
success,  good  or  bad,  I endeavored  to  supply  the  loss  of 
my  parliamentary  influence,  the  reader  will  see,  when  it 
suits  the  plot  of  this  history  to  touch  upon  such  topics. 

Glanville  I saw  continually.  When  in  tolerable  spirits, 
he  was  an  entertaining,  though  never  a frank  nor  a com- 
municative companion.  His  conversation  then  was  lively, 
yet  without  wit,  and  sarcastic,  though  without  bitterness. 
It  abounded  also  in  philosophical  reflections  and  terse 
maxims,  which  always  brought  improvement,  or,  at  the 
worst,  allowed  discussion.  He  was  a man  of  even  vast 
powers  — of  deep  thought  — of  luxuriant,  though  dark 
imagination,  and  of  great  miscellaneous,  though,  perhaps, 
ill-arranged  erudition.  He  was  fond  of  paradoxes  in  rea- 
soning, and  supported  them  with  a subtlety  and  strength 
of  mind,  which  Yincent,  who  admired  him  greatly,  told 
me  he  had  never  seen  surpassed.  He  was  subject,  at  times^ 
25^ 


H 


294 


P E L HA  M ; OR 


to  a gloom  and  despondency,  which  seemed  almost  like 
aberration  of  intellect.  At  those  hours  he  would  remain 
perfectly  silent,  and  apparently  forgetful  of  my  presence, 
and  of  every  object  around  him. 

It  was  only  then,  when  the  play  of  his  countenance  was 
vanished,  and  his  features  were  still  and  set,  that  you  saw 
in  their  full  extent,  the  dark  and  deep  traces  of  premature 
decay.  His  cheek  was  hollow  and  hueless,  his  eye  dim, 
and  of  that  visionary  and  glassy  aspect  which  is  never 
seen  but  in  great  mental  or  bodily  disease,  and  which 
according  to  the  superstitions  of  some  nations,  implies  a 
mysterious  and  unearthly  communion  of  the  soul  with  the 
beings  of  another  world.  From  these  trances  he  would 
sometimes  start  abruptly,  and  renew  any  conversation 
broken  off  before,  as  if  wholly  unconscious  of  the  length 
of  his  reverie.  At  others,  he  would  rise  slowly  from  his 
seat,  and  retire  into  his  own  apartment,  from  wdiich  he 
never  emerged  during  the  rest  of  the  day. 

But  the  reader  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  was  nothing 
artificial  or  affected  in  his  musings,  of  whatever  complexion 
they  might  be  ; nothing  like  the  dramatic  brown  studies, 
and  quick  starts,  which  young  gentlemen,  in  love  with 
Lara  and  Lord  Byron,  are  apt  to  practise.  There  never, 
indeed,  was  a character  that  possessed  less  cant  of  any 
description.  His  work,  which  was  a singular,  wild  tale  — 
of  mingled  passi(  n and  reflection  — was,  perhaps,  of  too 
original,  certainly  of  too  abstract  a nature,  to  suit  the 
ordinary  novel-readers  of  the  day.  It  did  not  acquire 
. popularity  for  itself,  but  it  gained  great  reputation  for  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN,  295 


author.  It  also  inspired  every  one  who  read  it  with  a 
vague  and  indescribable  interest  to  see  and  know  the  person 
who  had  composed  so  singular  a work. 

This  interest  he  was  the  first  to  laugh  at,  and  to  disap- 
point. He  shrank  from  all  admiration  and  from  all  sym- 
pathy. At  the  moment  when  a crowd  assembled  round 
him,  and  every  ear  was  bent  to  catch  the  words,  which 
came  alike  from  so  beautiful  a lip,  and  so  strange  and 
imaginative  a mind,  it  was  his  pleasure  to  utter  some 
sentiment  totally  different  from  his  written  opinions,  and 
utterly  destructive  of  the  sensation  he  had  excited.  But 
it  was  very  rarely  that  he  exposed  himself  to  these  ‘‘trials 
of  an  author.”  He  went  out  little  to  any  other  house  but 
Lady  Roseville’s,  and  it  was  seldom  more  than  once  a 
week  that  he  was  seen  even  there.  Lonely,  and  singular 
in  mind  and  habits,  he  lived  in  the  world  like  a person 
occupied  by  a separate  object,  and  possessed  of  a separate 
existence  from  that  of  his  fellow-beings.  He  was  luxurious 
and  splendid,  beyond  all  men,  in  his  habits,  rather  than 
his  tastes.  His  table  groaned  beneath  a weight  of  silver, 
too  costly  for  the  daily  service  even  of  a prince  ; but  he 
had  no  pleasure  in  surveying  it.  His  wines  and  viands 
were  of  the  most  exquisite  description  ; but  he  scarcely 
tasted  them.  Yet,  what  may  seem  inconsistent,  he  was 
averse  to  all  ostentation  and  show  in  the  eyes  of  others. 
He  admitted  very  few  into  his  society  — no  one  so  inti- 
mately as  myself.  I never  once  saw  more  than  three 
persons  at  his  table.  He  seemed,  in  his  taste  for  the  arts, 
in  his  love  of  literature,  and  his  pursuit  after  fame,  to  be 


296 


PELHAM;  OR, 


as  he  himself  said,  eternally  endeavoring  to  forget,  and 
eternally  brought  back  to  remembrance. 

I pity  that  man  even  more  than  I admire  him,^^  said 
Vincent  to  me,  one  night  when  we  were  walking  home 
from  Glanville’s  house.  His  is,  indeed,  the  disease 
nulla  medicabilis  herbd.  Whether  it  is  the  past  or  the 
present  that  afflicts  him  — whether  it  is  the  memory  of 
past  evil,  or  the  satiety  of  present  good,  he  has  taken  to 
his  heart  the  bitterest  philosophy  of  life.  He  does  not 
reject  its  blesssings  — he  gathers  them  around  him,  but 
as  a stone  gathers  moss  — cold,  hard  unsoftened  by  the 
freshness  and  the  greenness  which  surround  it.  As  a 
circle  can  only  touch  a circle  in  one  place,  everything  that 
life  presents  to  him,  wherever  it  comes  from  — to  whatever 
portion  of  his  soul  it  is  applied  — can  find  but  one  point 
of  contact ; and  that  is  the  soreness  of  affliction  : whether 
it  is  the  ohlimo  or  the  otium  that  he  requires,  he  finds 
equally  that  he  is  for  ever  in  want  of  one  treasure  :~ 
• negue  gemmis  neque  purpura  venale  nec  auro.^^^ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  291 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

• 

Mons.  Jourdain.  Etes-vous  fou  de  Taller  quereller  — lui  qni 
entend  la  tierce  et  la  quarte,  et  qui  sait  tuer  un  homme  par  raison 
demonstrative  ? 

Le  Mditre  d Danser.  Je  me  moque  de  sa  raison  demonstrative, 
et  de  sa  tierce  et  de  sa  quarte. — Moliere. 

Hollo,  my  good  friend  ; how  are  you  ? — d d 

glad  to  see  you  in  England,’’  vociferated  a loud,  clear, 
good-humored  voice,  one  cold  morning,  as  I was  shivering 
down  Brook-street  into  Bond-street.  I turned,  and  beheld 
Lord  Dartmore,  of  Rocher  de  Cancale  memory.  I re- 
turned his  greeting  with  the  same  cordiality  with  which 
it  was  given  ; and  I was  forthwith  saddled  with  Dart- 
more’s  arm,  and  dragged  up  Bond-street,  into  that  bor- 
ough of  all  noisy,  riotous,  unrefined  good  fellows,  yclept 
’s  Hotel. 

Here  we  were  soon  plunged  into  a small,  low  apart- 
ment, which  Dartmore  informed  me  was  his  room,  and 
which  was  crowded  with  a score  of  the  most  stalwai’t 
youths  that  I ever  saw  out  of  a marching  regiment. 

Dartmore  was  still  gloriously  redolent  of  Oxford  : his 
companions  were  all  extracts  from  Christ-church  ; and  his 
favorite  occupations  were  boxing  and  hunting  — scenes 
at  the  Fives’  Courts  — nights  in  the  Cider  Cellar  — and 
mornings  at  Bow-street.  Figure  to  yourself  a fitter 
compacion  for  the  hero  and  writer  of  these  adventures  I 


298 


PELHAM;  OR, 


The  table  was  covered  with  boxing-gloves,  single-sticks, 
two  ponderous  pair  of  dumb-bells,  a large  pewter  pot  of 
porter,  and  four  foils ; one  snapped  in  the  middle. 

Well,’’  cried  Dartmore,  to  two  strapping  youths,  with 
their  coats  off,  ‘'which  w.as  the  conqueror?” 

“Oh,  it  is  not  yet  decided,”  was  the  answer;  and 
forthwith  the  bigger  one  hit  the  lesser  a blow  with  his 
boxing-glove,  heavy  enough  to  have  felled  Ulysses,  who, 
if  I recollect  aright,  was  rather  “ a game  blood  ” in  such 
encounters. 

This  slight  salute  was  forthwith  the  prelude  to  an  en- 
counter, which  the  whole  train  crowded  round  to  witness ; 
— I,  among  the  rest,  pretending  an  equal  ardor,  and  an 
equal  interest,  and  hiding,  like  many  persons  in  a similar 
predicament,  a most  trembling  spirit  beneath  a most 
valorous  exterior. 

When  the  match  (which  terminated  in  favor  of  the 
lesser  champion)  was  over,  “ Come,  Pelham,”  said  Dart- 
more,  “ let  me  take  up  the  gloves  with  you  ? ” 

“You  are  too  good  !”  said  I,  for  the  first  time  using 
my  drawing-room  drawl.  A wink  and  a grin  went  round 
the  room. 

“Well,  then,  will  you  fence  with  Staunton,  or  play  at 
single-stick  with  me  ? ” said  the  short,  thick,  bullying, 
impudent,  vulgar  Earl  of  Calton. 

“Why,”  answered  I,  “ I am  a poor  hand  at  the  foils, 
and  a still  worse  at  the  sticks ; but  I have  no  objection 
to  exchange  a cut  or  two  at  the  latter  with  Lord  Calton.” 

“ No,  no  ! ” said  the  good-natured  Dartmore  ; — " no  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


299 


Calton  is  the  best  stick-plajer  I ever  knew ; and  then 
whispering  me,  he  added,  '‘and  the  hardest  hitter  — and 
he  never  spares,  either.’^ 

“Really,’^  said  I aloud,  in  mj  most  affected  tone,  “it 
is  a great  pity,  for  I am  excessively  delicate  ; but  as  I 
said  I would  engage  him,  I don’t  like  to  retract.  Pray 
let  me  look  at  the  hilt : I hope  the  basket  is  strong : I 
would  not  have  my  knuckles  rapped  for  the  world  — now 
for  it.  I’m  in  a deuced  fright,  Dartmore  ; ” and  so  saying, 
and  inwardly  chuckling  at  the  universal  pleasure  depicted 
in  the  countenances  of  Calton  and  the  by-standers,  who 
were  all  rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  the  “ dandy  being  drubbed,’^ 
I took  the  stick,  and  pretended  great  awkwardness,  and 
lack  of  grace  in  the  position  I chose. 

Calton  placed  himself  in  the  most  scientific  attitude, 
assuming  at  the  same  time  an  air  of  hauteur  and  non- 
chalance, which  seemed  to  call  for  the  admiration  it  met. 

“Do  we  allow  hard  hitting?”  said  I. 

“ Oh  ! by  all  means,”  answered  Calton,  eagerly. 

“Well,”  said  I,  settling  my  own  chapeau^  “had  not 
you  better  put  on  your  hat?” 

“ Oh  no,”  answered  Calton,  imperiously  ; “ I can  take 
pretty  good  care  of  my  head  ; ” and  with  these  words  we 
commenced. 

I remained  at  first  nearly  upright,  not  availing  myself 
in  the  least  of  my  superiority  in  height,  and  only  acting 
on  the  defensive.  Calton  played  well  enough  for  a gentle- 
man ; but  he  was  no  match  for  one  who  had,  at  the  age 
of  thirteen  beat  the  Life  Guardsmen  at  Angelo’s.  Sud- 


300 


PELHAM;  OR, 


denly,  when  I had  excited  a general  laugh  at  the  clumsy 
success  with  which  I warded  off  a most  rapid  attack  of 
Calton’s,  I changed  my  position,  and  keeping  Calton  at 
arm’s  length  till  I had  driven  him  towards  a corner,  I 
took  advantage  of  a haughty  imprudence  on  his  part,  and, 
by  a common  enough  move  in  the  game,  drew  back  from 
a stroke  aimed  at  my  limbs,  and  suffered  the  whole  weight 
of  my  weapon  to  fall  so  heavily  upon  his  head,  that  I 
felled  him  to  the  ground  in  an  instant. 

I was  sorry  for  the  severity  of  the  stroke  the  moment 
after  it  was  inflicted ; but  never  was  punishment  more 
deserved.  We  picked  up  the  discomfited  hero,  and  placed 
him  on  a chair  to  recover  his  senses  ; meanwhile  I received 
the  congratulations  of  the  conclave  with  a frank  alteration 
of  manner  which  delighted  them  ; and  I found  it  impos- 
sible to  get  away  till  I had  promised  to  dine  with  Dart- 
more,  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  evening  in  the  society  of 
his  friends. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


30) 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Heroes  mischievously  gay, 

Lords  of  the  street  and  terrors  of  the  way, 

FlushM  as  they  are  with  folly,  youth,  and  wine. 

Johnson’s  London, 

Hoi.  Novi  hominem  tanquam  te  — his  humor  is  lofty,  his  dis- 
course peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his  eye  ambitious,  his  gait 
majestical,  and  his  general  behavior  vain,  ridiculous,  and  thra- 
sonical.— Shakspkare. 

I WENT  a little  after  seven  o’clock  to  keep  my  dinner 

engagement  at ’s ; for  very  young  men  are  seldom 

unpunctual  at  dinner.  We  sat  down,  six  in  number,  to 
a repast  at  once  incredibly  bad,  and  ridiculously  extrava- 
gant; turtle  without  fat  — venison  without  flavor  — 
champagne  with  the  taste  of  a gooseberry,  and  hock  with 
the  properties  of  a pomegranate.*  Such  is  the  constant 
habit  of  young  men  : they  think  anything  expensive  is 
necessarily  good,  and  they  purchase  poison  at  a dearer 
rate  than  the  most  medicine-loving  hypochondriac  in 
England  I 

Of  course,  all  the  knot  declared  the  dinner  was  superb ; 
called  in  the  master  to  eulogize  him  in  person,  and  made 
him,  to  his  infinite  dismay,  swallow  a bumper  of  his  own 
hock.  Poor  man ! they  mistook  his  reluctance  for  his 


L — 26 


* Which  is  not  an  astringent  fruit. 


302 


pelham;  or, 


diffidence,  and  forced  him  to  wash  it  away  in  another 
potation.  With  many  a wry  face  of  grateful  humility,  he 
left  the  room,  and  we  then  proceeded  to  pass  the  bottle 
with  the  suicidal  determination  of  defeated  Romans. 
You  may  imagine  that  we  were  not  long  in  arriving  at 
the  devoutly  wished-for  consummation  of  comfortable 
inebriety  ; and  with  our  eyes  reeling,  our  cheeks  burning, 
and  our  brave  spirits  full  ripe  for  a quarrel,  we  sallied  out 
at  eleven  o’clock,  vowing  death,  dread,  and  destruction  to 
all  the  sober  portion  of  his  majesty’s  subjects. 

We  came  to  a dead  halt  in  Arlington-street,  which,  as 
it  was  the  quietest  spot  in  the  neighborhood,  we  deemed 
a fitting  place  for  the  arrangement  of  our  forces.  Dart- 
more,  Staunton  (a  tall,  thin,  well-formed,  silly  youth),  and 
myself,  marched  first,  and  the  remaining  three  followed. 
We  gave  each  other  the  most  judicious  admonitions  as  to 
propriety  of  conduct,  and  then,  with  a shout  that  alarmed 
the  whole  street,  we  renewed  our  way.  We  passed  on 
safely  enough  till  we  got  to  Charing-Cross,  having  only 
been  thrice  upbraided  by  the  watchmen,  and  once  threat- 
ened by  two  carmen  of  prodigious  size,  to  whose  wives 
or  sweethearts  we  had,  to  our  infinite  peril,  made  some 
gentle  overtures.  When,  however,  we  had  just  passed 
the  Opera  Colonnade,  we  were  accosted  by  a bevy  of 
buxom  Cyprians,  as  merry  and  as  drunk  as  ourselves. 
We  halted  for  a few  minutes  in  the  midst  of  the  kennel, 
to  confabulate  with  our  new  friends,  and  a very  amicable 
and  intellectual  conversation  ensued.  Dartmore  was  an 
adept  in  the  art  of  slang,  and  he  found  himself  fairly 


r 

ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN,  303 

matched,  by  more  than  one  of  the  fair  and  gentle  crea 
tures  by  whom  we  were  surrounded.  Just,  however,  as 
we  were  all  in  high  glee,  Staunton  made  a trifling  dis- 
covery, which  turned  the  merriment  of  the  whole  scene 
into  strife,  war,  and  confusion.  A bouncing  lass,  whose 
hands  were  as  ready  as  her  charms,  had  quietly  helped 
herself  to  a watch  which  Staunton  wore,  d la  mode^  in 
his  waistcoat-pocket.  Drunken  as  the  youth  was  at  that* 
time,  and  dulkas  he  was  at  all  others,  he  was  not  without 
the  instinctive  penetration  with  which  all  human  bipeds 
watch  over  their  individual  goods  and  chattels.  He 
sprang  aside  from  the  endearments  of  the  syren,  grasped 
her  arm,  and  in  a voice  of  querulous  indignation,  accused 
her  of  the  theft. 

“ Then  rose  the  cry  of  women  — shrill 
As  shriek  of  goshawk  on  the  hill.” 

Never  were  my  ears  so  stunned.  The  angry  authors 
in  the  adventures  of  Gil  Bias  were  nothing  to  the  dispu- 
tants in  the  kennel  at  Charing-Cross  ; we  rowed,  swore, 
slanged,  with  a Christian  meekness  and  forbearance  which 
would  have  rejoiced  Mr.  Wilberforce  to  the  heart,  and  we 
were  already  preparing  ourselves  for  a more  striking 
engagement,  when  we  were  most  unwelcomely  interrupted 
by  the  presence  of  three  watchmen. 

Take  away  this  — this  — d d woman,’’  hiccuped 

out  Staunton,  she  has  sto — len — (hiccup) — my  watch  ” 
— (hiccup). 

No  such  thing,  watchman,”  hallooed  out  the  accused, 
the  b counter-skipper  never  had  any  watch  I he 


304 


PELHAM:  OR 


only  filched  a twopenny-halfpenny  gilt-chain  out  of  hia 
master,  Levi,  the  pawnbroker’s  window,  and  stuck  it  in 
his  eel-skin  to  make  a show  : ye  did,  ye  pitiful,  lanky- 
chopped  son  of  a dog-fish,  ye  did.” 

Come,  come,”  said  the  watchman,  “ move  on,  move 

on.” 

^‘You  be  d d,  for  a Charley!”  said  one  of  our 

-gang. 

Ho  ! ho  ! master  jackanapes,  I shall  give  you  a cool- 
ing in  the  watch-house,  if  you  tips  us  any  of  your  jaw.  1 
dare  say  the  young  oman  here,  is  quite  right  about  ye, 
and  ye  never  had  any  watch  at  all,  at  all.” 

You  are  a liar  ! ” cried  Staunton  ; and  you  are  all 
in  with  each  other,  like  a pack  of  rogues  as  you  are.” 

I’ll  tell  you  what,  young  gemman,”  said  another 
watchman,*  who  was  a more  potent,  grave,  and  reverend 
signor  than  his  comrades,  *^if  you  do  not  move  on  in- 
stantly, and  let  those  decent  young  omen  alone.  I’ll  take 
you  all  up  before  Sir  Richard.” 

Charley,  my  boy,”  said  Dartmore,  ^^did  you  ever  get 
thrashed  for  impertinence  ? ” 

The  last-mentioned  watchman  took  upon  himself  the 
reply  to  this  interrogatory  by  a very  summary  proceeding  : 
he  collared  Dartmore,  and  his  companions  did  the  same 
kind  office  to  us.  This  action  was  not  committed  with 
impunity  : in  an  instant  two  of  the  moon’s  minions,  staffs, 
lanterns,  and  all,  were  measuring  their  length  at  the  foot 

* The  reader  will  remember  that  this  work  was  written  before 
the  institution  of  the  New  Police. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


305 


of  their  namesake  of  royal  memory  ; the  remaining  Dog- 
berry was,  however,  a tougher  assailant ; he  held  Staunton 
so  firmly  in  his  gripe,  that  the  poor  youth  could  scarcely 

breathe  out  a faint  and  feeble  d ye  of  defiance,  and 

with  his  disengaged  hand  he  made  such  an  admirable  use 
of  his  rattle,  that  we  were  surrounded  in  a trice. 

As  when  an  ant-hill  is  invaded,  from  every  quarter  and 
crevice  of  the  mound  arise  and  pour  out  an  angry  host, 
of  whose  previous  existence  the  unwary  assailant  had  not 
dreamt;  so  from  every  lane,  and  alley,  and  street,  and 
crossing,  came  fast  and  far  the  champions  of  the  night. 

Gentlemen,’^  said  Dartrnore,  “ we  must  fly  ; sauve  qui 
peut.^^  We  wanted  no  stronger  admonition,  and  accord- 
ingly, all  of  us  who  were  able,  set  off  with  the  utmost 
velocity  with  which  God  had  gifted  us.  I have  some 
faint  recollection  that  I myself  headed  the  flight.  I 
remember  well  that  I dashed  up  the  Strand,  and  dashed 
down  a singular  little  shed,  from  which  emanated  the 
steam  of  tea,  and  a sharp,  querulous  scream  of  “All  hot 
— all  hot;  a penny  a pint.”  I see,  now,  by  the  dim  light 
of  retrospection,  a vision  of  an  old  woman  in  the  kennel, 
and  a pewter  pot  of  mysterious  ingredients  precipitated 
into  a greengrocer’s  shop,  virides  inter  lauros,^^  as 
Vincent  would  have  said.  On  we  went,  faster  and  faster, 
as  the  rattle  rang  in  our  ears,  and  the  tramp  of  the  enemy 
echoed  after  us  in  hot  pursuit. 

“ The  devil  take  the  hindmost,”  said  Dartrnore,  breath- 
lessly (as  he  kept  up  with  me). 

“ The  watchman  has  saved  his  majesty  the  trouble,” 
24* 


u 


PELHAM;  OR, 


SLoe 

answered  I,  looking  back  and  seeing  one  of  our  friends 
in  the  clutch  of  the  pursuers. 

On,  on  ! was  Dartmore’s  only  reply. 

At  last,  after  innumerable  perils,  and  various  immerse- 
ments  into  back  passages,  and  courts,  and  alleys,  which, 
like  the  chicaneries  of  law,  preserved  and  befriended  us, 
in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  justice,  we  fairly  found  our- 
selves in  safety  in  the  midst  of  a great  square 

Here  we  paused,  and  after  ascertaining  our  individual 
safeties,  we  looked  round  to  ascertain  the  sum-total  of 
the  general  loss.  Alas  ! we  were  wofully  shorn  of  our 
beams  — we  were  reduced  one-half ; only  three  out  of 
the  six  survived  the  conflict  and  the  flight. 

“ Half,’^  (said  the  companion  of  Dartmore  and  myself, 
whose  name  was  Tringle,  and  who  was  a dabbler  in 
science,  of  which  he  was  not  a little  vain)  half  is  less 
worthy  than  the  whole  ; but  the  half  is  more  worthy  than 
nonentity.’^ 

*‘An  axiom,’’  said  I,  ^‘not  to  be  disputed;  but  now 
that  we  are  safe,  and  have  time  to  think  about  it,  are 
you  not  slightly  of  opinion  that  we  behaved  somewhat 
scurvily  to  our  better  half,  in  leaving  it  so  quietly  in  the 
hands  of  the  Philistines  ? ” 

^‘By  no  means,”  answered  Dartmore.  '^In  a party, 
whose  members  make  no  pretensions  to  sobriety,  it  would 
be  too  hard  to  expect  that  persons  who  are  scarcely 
capable  of  taking  care  of  themselves,  should  take  care 
of  other  people.  No  ; we  have  in  all  these  exploits, 
only  the  one  maxim  of  self-preservation.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  307 

me,’’  said  Tringle,  seizing  me  by  the  coat,  to 
•xpiain  it  to  you  on  scientific  principles.  You  will  find, 
in  hydrostatics,  that  the  attraction  of  cohesion  is  far  less 
powerful  in  fluids  than  in  solids ; viz.  that  persons  who 
have  been  converting  their  ^ solid  flesh  ’ into  wine-skins, 
cannot  stick  so  close  to  one  another  as  when  they  are 
sober.’^ 

Bravo,  Tringle  ! cried  Dartmore  ; and  now,  Pelham, 
I hope  your  delicate  scruples  are,  after  so  luminous  an 
eclair cissement,  set  at  rest  for  ever.” 

*^You  have  convinced  me,”  said  I ; let  us  leave  the 
unfortunates  to  their  fate,  and  Sir  Richard.  What  is  now 
to  be  done  ? ” 

Why,  in  the  first  place,”  answered  Dartmore,  “let  us 
reconnoitre.  Does  any  one  know  this  spot?  ” 

“Not  I,”  said  both  of  us.  We  inquired  of  an  old 
fellow,  who  was  tottering  home  under  the  same  Baccha- 
nalian auspices  as  ourselves,  and  found  we  w^ere  in  Lin- 
coln’s Inn  Fields. 

“ Which  shall  we  do  ? ” asked  I,  “ stroll  home  ; or  parade 
the  streets,  visit  the  Cider-Cellar,  and  the  Finish,  and  kiss 
the  first  lass  we  meet  in  the  morning  bringing  her  charms 
and  carrots  to  Covent  Garden  Market  ? ” 

“The  latter,”  cried  Dartmore  and  Tringle,  “without 
doubt.” 

“ Come,  then,”  said  I,  “ let  us  investigate  Holborn,  and 
dip  into  St.  Giles’s,  and  then  find  our  way  into  some  more 
kii’)wn  corner  of  the  globe.” 

“•Amen  I ” said  Dartmore,  and  accordingly  we  renewed 


308 


PELHAM;  OR, 


oiir  march.  We  wound  along  a narrow  lane,  tolerably 
well  known,  I imagine,  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  quill,  and 
entered  Holborn.  There  was  a beautiful  still  moon  above 
us,  which  cast  its  light  over  a drowsy  stand  of  hackney 
coaches,  and  shed  a ‘ silver  sadness  ’ over  the  thin  visages 
and  sombre  vestments  of  two  guardians  of  the  night,  who 
regarded  us,  we  thought,  with  a very  ominous  aspect  of 
suspicion. 

We  strolled  along,  leisurely  enough,  till  we  were  inter- 
rupted by  a miserable-looking  crowd,  assembled  round  a 
dull,  dingy,  melancholy  shop,  from  which  gleamed  a 
solitary  candle,  whose  long,  spinster-like  wick  was  flirting 
away  with  an  east  wind,  at  a most  unconscionable  rate. 
Upon  the  haggard  and  worn  countenances  of  the  by-stand- 
ers,  was  depicted  one  general  and  sympathizing  expression 
of  eager,  envious,  wistful  anxiety,  which  predominated  so 
far  over  the  various  characters  of  each,  as  to  communicate 
something  of  a likeness  to  all.  It  was  an  impress  of  such 
a seal  as  you  might  imagine,  not  the  arch-fiend,  but  one 
of  his  subordinate  shepherds,  would  have  set  upon  each 
of  his  flock. 

Amid  this  crowd,  I recognized  more  than  one  face  which 
I had  often  seen  in  my  equestrian  lounges  through  town, 
peering  from  the  shoulders  of  some  intrusive,  ragamuffin, 
wages-less  lackey,  and  squalling  out  of  its  wretched,  un- 
pampered mouth,  the  everlasting  query  of  Want  your 
OSS  held,  SirV^  The  rest  were  made  up  of  unfortunate 
women  of  the  vilest  and  most  ragged  description,  aged 
itinerants,  with  features  seared  with  famine,  bleared  eyes, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  309 


dropping  jaws,  shivering  limbs,  and  all  the  mortal  signs 
of  hopeless  and  aidless,  and,  worst  of  all,  breadless  infirmity. 
Here  and  there  an  Irish  accent  broke  out  in  the  oaths  of 
national  impatience,  and  was  answered  by  the  shrill,  broken 
voice  of  some  decrepit  but  indefatigable  votaries  of  plea- 
sure— (pleasure!)  but  the  chief  character  of  the  meeting 
VfdiS  silence  ; — silence,  eager,  heavy,  engrossing;  and, 
above  them  all,  shone  out  the  quiet  moon,  so  calm,  so  holy, 
so  breathing  of  still  happiness  and  unpolluted  glory,  as  if 
it  never  looked  upon  the  traces  of  human  passion,  and 
misery,  and  sin.  We  stood  for  some  moments  contempla- 
ting the  group  before  us,  and  then,  following  the  steps  of 
an  old,  withered  crone,  who,  with  a cracked  cup  in  her 
hand,  was  pushing  her  way  through  the  throng,  we  found 
ourselves  in  that  dreary  pandsemonium,  at  once  the  origin 
and  the  refuge  of  humble  vices  — a Gin-shop, 

Poor  devils,”  said  Dartmore,  to  two  or  three  of  the 
nearest  and  eagerest  among  the  crowd,  ‘‘come  in,  and  I 
will  treat  you.” 

The  invitation  was  received  with  a promptness  which 
must  have  been  the  most  gratifying  compliment  to  the 
hiviter  ; and  thus  Want,  which  is  the  mother  of  Invention, 
does  not  object,  now  and  then,  to  a bantling  by  Politeness. 

We  stood  by  the  counter  while  oxxv  proteges  were  served, 
in  silent  observation.  In  low  vice,  to  me,  there  is  always 
something  too  gloomy,  almost  too  fearful  for  light  mirth  ; 
the  coMtortions  of  the  madman  are  stronger  than  those  of 
the  fool,  but  one  does  not  laugh  at  them  ; the  sympathy 
Is  for  the  cause  — not  the  effect. 


310 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Leaning  against  the  counter  at  one  corner,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  deliberately  and  unmovingly  upon  us,  was  a man 
about  the  age  of  fifty,  dressed  in  a costume  of  singular 
fashion,  apparently  pretending  to  an  antiquity  of  taste, 
correspondent  with  that  of  the  material.  This  person 
wore  a large  cocked-hat,  set  rather  jauntily  on  one  side, 
and  a black  coat,  which  seemed  an  omnium  gatherum 
of  all  abominations  that  had  come  in  its  way  for  the  last 
ten  years,  and  which  appeared  to  advance  equal  claims 
(from  the  manner  it  was  made  and  worn),  to  the  several 
dignities  of  the  art  military  and  civil,  the  arma  and  the 
toga: — from  the  neck  of  the  wearer  hung  a blue  ribbon 
of  amazing  breadth,  and  of  a very  surprising  assumption 
of  newness  and  splendor,  by  no  means  in  harmony  with 
the  other  parts  of  the  tout  ensemble  ; this  was  the  guardian 
of  an  eye-glass  of  block  tin,  and  of  dimensions  correspon- 
dent with  the  size  of  the  ribbon.  Stuck  under  the  right 
arm,  and  shaped  fearfully  like  a sword,  peeped  out  the 
hilt  of  a very  large  and  sturdy-looking  stick,  in  war  a 
weapon,  in  peace  a support.’^ 

The  features  of  the  man  were  in  keeping  with  his  garb  ; 
they  betokened  an  equal  mixture  of  the  traces  of  poverty, 
and  the  assumption  of  the  dignities  reminiscent  of  a better 
day.  Two  small  light-blue  eyes  were  shaded  by  bushy 
and  rather  imperious  brows,  which  lowered  from  under 
the  hat,  like  Cerberus  out  of  his  den.  These,  at  present, 
wore  the  dull,  fixed  stare  of  habitual  intoxication,  though 
we  were  not  long  in  discovering  that  they  had  rot  yet 
forgotten  to  sparkle  with  all  the  quickness,  and  more  than 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  311 

tne  roguery  of  youth.  His  nose  was  large,  prominent^ 
and  aristocratic ; nor  would  it  have  been  ill-formed,  had 
not  some  unknown  cause  pushed  it  a little  nearer  towards 
the  left  ear,  than  would  have  been  thought,  by  an  equita- 
ble judge  of  beauty,  fair  to  the  pretensions  of  the  right. 
The  lines  in  the  countenance  were  marked  as  if  in  iron, 
and  had  the  face  been  perfectly  composed,  must  have 
given  to  it  a remarkably  stern  and  sinister  appearance  ; 
but  at  that  moment  there  was  an  arch  leer  about  the 
mouth,  which  softened,  or  at  least  altered  the  expression 
the  features  habitually  wore. 

“ Sir,^’  said  he,  (after  a few  minutes  of  silence,)  “ Sir,’^ 
said  he,  approaching  me,  will  you  do  me  the  honor  to 
take  a pinch  of  snuff?  and  so  saying  he  tapped  a curious 
copper  box,  with  a picture  of  his  late  majesty  upon  it. 

**  With  great  pleasure,”  answered  I,  bowing  low,  since 
the  act  is  a prelude  to  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.” 

My  gentleman  of  the  gin-shop  opened  his  box  with  an 
air,  as  he  replied  — “It  is  but  seldom  that  I meet,  in 
places  of  this  description,  gentlemen  of  the  exterior  of 
yourself  and  your  friends.  I am  not  a person  very  easily 
deceived  by  the  outward  man.  Horace,  sir,  could  not 
have  included  me,  when  he  said.  Specie  decipimur.  I 
perceive  that  you  are  surprised  at  hearing  me  quote  Latin. 
Alas  ! sir,  in  my  wandering  and  various  manner  of  life  I 
may  say,  with  Cicero  and  Pliny,  that  the  study  of  letters 
has  proved  my  greatest  consolation.  ‘ Gaudium 
says  the  latter  author,  ‘ et  solatium  in  Uteris : nihil  tarn 
Icetum  quod  his  non  Icctius,  nihil  tarn  triste  quod  non  per 


312 


PELHAM;  OR, 


has  sit  minus  triste.^  G — d d — n ye,  you  scoundrel,  give 
me  my  gin  ! ar’n^t  you  ashamed  of  keeping  a gentleman  of 
my  fashion  so  long  waiting  ? ’’ 

This  was  said  to  the  sleepy  dispenser  of  the  spirituous 
potations,  who  looked  up  for  a moment  with  a dull  stare, 
and  then  replied,  Your  money  first,  Mr.  Gordon  — you 
owe  us  seven-pence  halfpenny  already.” 

“ Blood  and  confusion  ! speakest  thou  to  me  of  half- 
pence ! Know  that  thou  art  a mercenary  varlet ; yes, 
knave,  mark  that,  a mercenary  varlet.”  The  sleepy 
Ganymede  replied  not,  and  the  wrath  of  Mr.  Gordon  sub- 
sided into  a low,  interrupted,  internal  muttering  of  strange 
oaths,  which  rolled  and  grumbled,  and  rattled  in  his  throat, 
like  distant  thunder. 

At  length  he  cheered  up  a little  — Sir,”  said  he,  ad- 
dressing Dartmore,  ^'it  is  a sad  thing  to  be  dependent  on 
these  low  persons  ; the  wise  among  the  ancients  were  never 
so  wrong  as  when  they  panegyrized  poverty  : it  is  the 
the  wicked  man’s  tempter,  the  good  man’s  perdition,  the 
proud  man’s  curse,  the  melancholy  man’s  halter.^^ 

“ You  are  a strange  old  cock,”  said  the  unsophisticated 
Dartmore,  eyeing  him  from  head  to  foot;  ‘there’s  half 
a sovereign  for  you.” 

The  blunt  blue  eyes  of  Mr.  Gordon  sharpened  up  in  an 
instant ; he  seized  the  treasure  with  an  avidity  of  which, 
the  minute  after,  he  seemed  somewhat  ashamed  ; for  he 
said,  playing  with  the  coin  in  an  idle,  indifferent  manner 

“ Sir,  you  show  a consideration,  and,  let  me  add,  sir.  a 

delicacy  of  feeling,  unusual  at  your  years.  Sir*  I snail 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  313 

repay  you  at  my  earliest  leisure,  and  in  the  meanwhile 
allow  me  to  say,  that  I shall  be  proud  of  the  honor  of 
your  acquaintance.’’ 

^‘Thank-ye,  old  boy,”  said  Dartmore,  putting  on  his 
glove  before  he  accepted  the  offered  hand  of  his  new  friend, 
which,  though  it  was  tendered  with  great  grace  and  dignity, 
was  of  a marvellously  dingy  and  soapless  aspect. 

Harkye,  you  d — d son  of  a gun  ! ” cried  Mr.  Gordon, 
abruptly  turning  from  Dartmore,  after  a hearty  shake  of 
the  hand,  to  the  man  at  the  counter  — “ Harkye  ! give  me 
change  for  this  half-sovereign,  and  be  d — d to  you  — and 
then  tip  us  a double  gill  of  your  best ; you  whey-faced, 
liver-drenched,  pence-griping,  belly-griping,  pauper-cheat- 
ing, sleepy-souled  Arismanes  of  bad  spirits.  Come,  gen- 
tlemen, if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do.  I’ll  take  you  to 
my  club;  we  are  a rare  knot  of  us,  there  — all  choice 
spirits  ; some  of  them  are  a little  uncouth,  it  is  true,  but 
we  are  not  all  born  Chesterfields.  Sir,  allow  me  to  ask 
the  favour  of  your  name  ? ” 

Dartmore.” 

Mr.  Dartmore,  you  are  a gentleman.  Hollo!  you 
Liquorpond-dreet  of  a scoundrel — having  nothing  of 
liquor  but  the  name,  you  narrow,  nasty,  pitiful  alley  of  a 
fellow,  with  a kennel  for  a body,  and  a sink  for  a soul ; 
give  me  my  change  and  my  gin,  you  scoundrel ! Humph, 
is  that  all  right,  you  Procrustes  of  the  counter,  chopping 
our  lawful  appetites  down  to  your  rascally  standard  of 
seven-pence  halfpenny  ? Why  don’t  you  take  a motto, 
you  Paynim  dog?  Here’s  one  for  you  — ‘Measure  for 
T.~2T 


314 


PELHAM. 


measure,  and  the  devil  to  pay!’  Humph,  you  pitiful 
toadstool  of  a trader,  you  have  no  more  spirit  than  an 
empty  water-bottle  ; and  when  you  go  to  h — 11,  they’ll 
use  you  to  cool  the  bellows.  I say,  you  rascal,  why  are 
you  worse  off  than  the  devil  in  a hip-bath  of  brimstone  ? 
— because,  you  knave,  the  devil  then  would  only  be  half 

d — d,  and  you’re  d — d all  over  1 Come,  gentlemen,  I 

am  at  your  service.^/ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  315 


CHAPTER  L. 


The  history  of  a philosophical  vagabond,  pursuing  novelty,  and 
losing  content. — Vicar  of  Wakefield, 


We  followed  our  strange  friend  through  the  crowd  at 
the  door,  which  he  elbowed  on  either  side  with  the  most 
aristocratic  disdain,  perfectly  regardless  of  their  jokes  at 
his  dress  and  manner;  he  no  sooner  got  through  the 
throng,  than  he  stopped  short  (though  in  the  midst  of  the 
kennel)  and  offered  us  his  arm.  This  was  an  honor  of 
which  we  were  by  no  means  desirous  ; for,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  shabbiness  of  Mr.  Gordon’s  exterior,  there  was  a 
certain  odor  in  his  garments  which  was  possibly  less  dis- 
pleasing to  the  wearer  than  to  his  acquaintance.  Accord- 
ingly, we  pretended  not  to  notice  this  invitation,  and 
merely  said,  we  would  follow  his  guidance. 

He  turned  up  a narrow  street,  and  after  passing  some 
of  ine  most  ill-favored  alleys  I ever  had  the  happiness  of 


PELHAM:  OR, 


Slo 

beholding,  he  stopped  at  a low  door ; here  he  knocked 
twice,  and  was  at  last  admitted  by  a slip-shod,  yawning 
wench,  with  red  arms  and  a profusion  of  sandy  hair.  This 
Hebe,  Mr.  Gordon  greeted  with  a loving  kiss,  which  the 
kissee  resented  in  a very  unequivocal  strain  of  disgustful 
reproach. 

^‘Hush  ! my  Queen  of  Clubs;  my  Sultana  Sootina!” 
said  Mr.  Gordon  ; “hush  ! or  these  gentlemen  will  think 
you  in  earnest.  I have  brought  three  new  customers  to 
the  club.’’ 

This  speech  somewhat  softened  the  incensed  Houri  of 
Mr.  Gordon’s  Paradise,  and  she  very  civilly  asked  us  to 
enter. 

“ Stop  ! ” said  Mr.  Gordon  with  an  air  of  importance, 
“I  must  just  step  in  and  ask  the  gentlemen  to  admit 
you  ; — merely  a form  — for  a word  from  me  will  be  quite 
sufficient.”  And  so  saying,  he  vanished  for  about  five 
minutes. 

On  his  return,  he  said,  with  a cheerful  countenance, 
that  we  were  free  of  the  house,  but  that  we  must  pay  a 
shilling  each  as  the  customary  fee.  This  sum  was  soon 
collected,  and  quietly  inserted  in  the  waistcoat-pocket  of 
our  chaperon,  who  then  conducted  us  up  the  passage  into 
a small,  back  room,  where  were  sitting  about  seven  or 
eight  men,  enveloped  in  smoke,  and  moistening  the  fever 
of  the  Virginian  plant  with  various  preparations  of  malt. 
On  entering,  I observed  Mr.  Gordon  deposit,  at  a sort  of 
bar,  the  sum  of  threepence,  by  which  I shrewdly  surmised 
he  bad  gained  the  sum  of  two  and  ninepence  by  our 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


317 


admission.  With  a very  arrogant  air,  he  proceeded  to 
the  head  of  the  table,  sat  himself  down  with  a swagger 
and  called  out,  like  a lusty  roisterer  of  the  true  kidney, 
for  a pint  of  purl  and  a pipe.  JS’ot  to  be  out  of  fashion, 
we  ordered  the  same  articles  of  luxury. 

After  we  had  all  commenced  a couple  of  puffs  at  our 
pipes,  I looked  round  ^at  our  fellow-guests  ; they  seemed 
in  a very  poor  state  of  body,  as  might  naturally  be  sup- 
posed ; and,  in  order  to  ascertain  how  far  the  condition 
of  the  mind  was  suited  to  that  of  the  frame,  I turned 
round  to  Mr.  Gordon,  and  asked  him  in  a whisper  to  give 
us  a few  hints  as  to  the  genus  and  characteristics  of  the 
individual  components  of  his  club.  Mr.  Gordon  declared 
himself  delighted  with  the  proposal,  and  we  all  adjourned 
to  a separate  table  at  the  corner  of  the  room,  where  Mr. 
Gordon,  after  a deep  draught  at  the  purl,  thus  began  : — 

“You  observe  yon  thin,  meagre,  cadaverous  animal, 
with  rather  an  intelligent  and  melancholy  expression  of 
countenance  — his  name  is  Chitterling  Crabtree  : his 
father  was  an  eminent  coal-merchant,  and  left  him  10,- 
OOOZ.  Crabtree  turned  politician.  When  fate  wishes  to 
ruin  a man  of  moderate  abilities  and  moderate  fortune, 
she  makes  him  an  orator.  Mr.  Chitterling  Crabtree 
attended  all  the  meetings  at  the  Crown  and  Anchor  — 
subscribed  to  the  aid  of  the  suffering  friends  of  freedom 
— harangued,  argued,  sweated,  wrote  — was  lined  and 
imprisoned  — regained  his  liberty,  and  married  — his  wife 
loved  a community  of  goods  no  less  than  her  spouse,  and 
ran  off  with  one  citizen,  while  he  was  running  on  to  the 
27* 


18 


PELHAM;  OR, 


others.  Chitterling  dried  his  tears  ; and  contented  him- 
self with  the  reflection,  that  ‘ in  a proper  state  of  things,’ 
such  an  event  could  not  have  occurred. 

‘‘Mr.  Crabtree’s  money  and  life  were  now  half  gone. 
One  does  not  subscribe  to  the  friends  of  freedom  and 
spout  at  their  dinners  for  nothing.  But  the  worst  drop 
w'as  yet  in  the  cup.  An  undertaking  of  the  most  spirited 
and  promising  nature,  was  conceived  by  the  chief  of  the 
friends,  and  the  dearest  familiar  of  Mr.  Chitterling  Crab- 
tree. Our  worthy  embarked  his  fortune  in  a speculation 
so  certain  of  success; — crash  went  the  speculation,  and 
off  went  the  friend  — Mr.  Crabtree  was  ruined.  He  was 
not,  however,  a man  to  despair  at  trifles.  What  were 
bread,  meat,  and  beer  to  the  champion  of  equality  ! He 
went  to  the  meeting  that  very  night : he  said  he  gloried 
in  his  losses  — they  were  for  the  cause  : the  whole  con- 
clave rang  with  shouts  of  applause,  and  Mr.  Chitterling 
Crabtree  went  to  bed  happier  than  ever.  I need  not 
pursue  his  history  farther;  you  see  him  here  — verbum 
sap.  He  spouts  at  the  ‘ Ciceronian,’  for  half  a crown 
a-night,  and  to  this  day  subscribes  sixpence  a-week  to  the 
cause  of  ‘liberty  and  enlightenment  all  over  the  world.’  ” 

“ By  heaven  I ” cried  Dartmore,  “ he  is  a fine  fellow, 
and  my  father  shall  do  something  for  him.” 

Gordon  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  continued, — “ Now, 
for  the  second  person,  gentlemen,  whom  I am  about  to 
describe  to  you.  You  see  that  middle-sized,  stout  man, 
with  a slight  squint,  and  a restless,  lowering,  cunning 
expression  ? ” 


A.DVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  31& 

*‘Wl'at!  him  in  the  kerseymere  breeches  and  greec 
jacket  ? ’’  said  I. 

The  same,”  answered  Gordon.  “ His  real  name,  when 
he  does  not  travel  with  an  alias,  is  Job  Jonson.  He  is 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  rogues  in  Christendom  ; he 
is  so  noted  a cheat,  that  there  is  not  a pickpocket  in 
England  who  would  keep  company  with  him  if  he  had 
anything  to  lose.  He  was  the  favorite  of  his  father,  who 
ntended  to  leave  him  all  his  fortune,  which  was  tolerably 
large.  He  robbed  him  one  day  on  the  highroad;  his 
father  discovered  it,  and  disinherited  him.  He  was  placed 
at  a merchant's  office,  and  rose,  step  by  step,  to  be  head 
clerk,  and  intended  son-in-law.  Three  nights  before  his 
marriage,  he  broke  open  the  till,  and  was  turned  out  of 
ioors  the  next  morning.  If  you  were  going  to  do  him 
the  greatest  favor  in  the  world,  he  could  not  keep  his 
nands  out  of  your  pocket  till  you  had  done  it.  In  short, 
ae  has  rogued  himself  out  of  a dozen  fortunes,  and  a 
nundred  friends,  and  managed,  with  incredible  dexterity 
and  success,  to  cheat  himself  into  beggary  and  a pot  of 
beer.” 

‘‘I  beg  your  pardon,”  said  I,  “but  I think  a sketch  of 
your  own  life  must  be  more  amusing  than  that  of  any  one 
else  : am  I impertinent  in  asking  for  it  ? ” 

“Not  at  all,”  replied  Mr.  Gordon  ; “you  shall  have  it 
in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

“ I was  born  a gentleman,  and  educated  with  some 
“lains ; they  told  me  I was  a genius,  and  it  was  not  verv 
:ard  to  persuade  me  of  the  truth  of  the  assertion.  I 


320 


PELHAM;  OR, 

wrote  verses  to  a wonder  — robbed  orchards  according 
to  military  tactics  — never  played  at  marbles  without 
explaining  to  my  competitors  the  theory  of  attraction  — 
and  w^as  the  best-informed,  most  misohievous,  little  rascal 
in  the  whole  school.  My  family  were  in  great  doubt  what 
to  do  with  so  prodigious  a wonder ; one  said  the  law, 
another  the  church,  a third  talked  of  diplomacy,  and  a 
fourth  assured  my  mother,  that  if  I could  but  be  intro- 
duced at  court,  I should  be  lord  chamberlain  in  a twelve- 
month.  While  my  friends  were  deliberating,  I took  the 
liberty  of  deciding  : I enlisted,  in  a fit  of  loyal  valor,  in 
a marching  regiment ; my  friends  made  the  best  of  a bad 
job,  and  bought  me  an  ensigncy. 

I recollect  I read  Plato  the  night  before  I went  to 
battle  ; the  next  morning  they  told  me  I ran  away.  I 
am  sure  it  was  a malicious  invention,  for  if  I had,  I should 
have  recollected  it ; whereas,  I was  in  such  a confusion 
that  I cannot  remember  a single  thing  that  happened  in 
the  w^hole  course  of  that  day.  About  six  months  after- 
wards, I found  myself  out  of  the  army,  and  in  gaol ; and 
no  sooner  had  my  relations  released  me  from  the  latter 
predicament,  than  I set  off  on  my  travels.  At  Dublin,  I 
lost  my  heart  to  a rich  widow  (as  I thought)  ; I married 
her,  and  found  her  as  poor  as  myself.  Heaven  knows 
what  w^ould  have  become  of  me,  if  I had  not  taken  to 
drinking;  my  wife  scorned  to  be  outdone  by  me  in  any 
thing  ; she  followed  my  example,  and  at  the  end  of  a year 
I followed  her  to  the  grave.  Since  then  I have  taken 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


321 


warning,  and  been  scrupulously  sober  —Betty,  mj  love, 
another  pint  of  purl. 

I was  now  once  more  a freeman  in  the  prime  of  my 
life;  handsome,  as  you  see,  gentlemen,  and  with  the 
strength  and  spirit  of  a young  Hercules.  Accordingly 
I dried  my  tears,  turned  marker  by  night  at  a gambling 
house,  and  buck  by  day,  in  Bond-street  (for  I had  returned 
to  London).  I remember  well  one  morning,  that  his 
present  Majesty  was  pleased,  en  passant^  to  admire  my 
buckskins  — tempora  mutantur.  Well,  gentlemen,  one 
night  at  a brawl  in  our  salon^  my  nose  met  with  a rude 
hint  to  move  to  the  right.  I went,  in  a great  panic,  to 
the  surgeon,  who  mended  the  matter  by  moving  it  to  the 
left.  There,  thank  God  ! it  has  rested  in  quiet  ever  since. 
It  is  needless  to  tell  you  the  nature  of  the  quarrel  in  which 
this  accident  occurred  ; however,  my  friends  thought  it 
necessary  to  remove  me  from  the  situation  I then  held. 
I went  once  more  to  Ireland,  and  was  introduced  to  ^ a 
friend  of  freedom.’  I was  poor;  that  circumstance  is 
quite  enough  to  make  a patriot.  They  sent  me  to  Paris 
on  a secret  mission,  and  when  I returned,  my  friends  were 
in  prison.  Being  always  of  a free  disposition,  I did  not 
envy  them  their  situation : accordingly  I returned  to 
England.  Halting  at  Liverpool,  with  a most  debilitated 
purse,  I went  into  a silversmith’s  shop  to  brace  it,  and 
about  six  months  afterwards,  I found  myself  on  a marine 
excursion  to  Botany  Bay.  On  my  return  from  that 
country,  I resolved  to  turn  my  literary  talents  to  account. 

T went  to  Cambridge,  wrote  declamations,  and  translated 

V 


PELHAM;  OR, 


a22 

Yirgil  at  so  much  a sheet.  Mj  relations  (thanks  to  my 
letters,  neither  few  nor  far  between)  soon  found  me  out ; 
they  allowed  me  (they  do  so  still)  half  a guinea  a week ; 
and  upon  this  and  my  declamations  I manage  to  exist. 
Ever  since,  my  chief  residence  has  been  at  Cambridge. 
I am  an  universal  favorite  with  both  graduates  and  under- 
graduates. I have  reformed  my  life  and  my  manners,  and 
have  become  the  quiet,  orderly  person  you  behold  me. 
Age  tames  the  fiercest  of  us  — 

“‘Non  sum  qualis  eram.’ 

**  Betty,  bring  me  my  purl,  and  be  d — d to  you. 

It  is  now  vacation  time,  and  I have  come  to  town 
with  the  idea  of  holding  lectures  on  the  state  of  educa- 
tion. Mr.  Dartmore,  your  health.  Gentlemen,  yours. 
My  story  is  done, — and  I hope  you  will  pay  for  the  puH.’’* 


* Poor  Jemmy  Gordon  — thou  art  no  morel  The  stones  of  Cam- 
bridge no  longer  prate  of  thy  whereabout!  — Death  hath  removed 
thee  ; — may  it  not  be  to  that  bourne  where  alone  thy  oaths  can  be 
outdone!  He  was  indeed  a singular  character,  that  Jemmy  Gor- 
don, as  many  a generation  of  Cantabs  can  attest!  — His  long  stick 
and  his  cocked  hat  — and  his  tattered  Lucretius,  and  his  mighty 
eye-glass,  how  familiarly  do  they  intermingle  with  our  recollections 
of  Trinity  and  of  Trumpington  Streets ! If  I have  rightly  heard, 
his  death  was  the  consequence  of  a fractured  limb.  Laid  by  the 
leg  in  a lofty  attic,  his  spirit  was  not  tamed  ; — the  noises  he  made 
were  astounding  to  the  last. — The  grim  foe  carried  him  off  in  a 
whirlwind  of  slang ! I do  not  say  ^Peace  to  his  manes,*  for  quiet 
v/ould  be  the  worst  hell  that  could  await  him:  — and  heaven  itself 
would  be  torture  to  Jemmy  Gordon,  if  he  were  not  allowed  *o 
swear  in  it!  — Noisiest  of  reprobates,  fare  thee  well! — H.  P. 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


823 


CHAPTER  LI. 

I hate  a drunken  rogue. — Twelfth  NighU 

We  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  Mr.  Gordon,  and 
found  ourselves  once  more  in  the  open  air ; the  smoke 
and  the  purl  had  contributed  greatly  to  the  continuance 
of  our  inebriety,  and  we  were  as  much  averse  to  bed  as 
ever.  We  conveyed  ourselves,  laughing  and  rioting  ali 
the  way,  to  a stand  of  hackney-coaches.  We  entered 
the  head  of  the  flock,  and  drove  to  Piccadilly.  It  set  us 
down  at  the  corner  of  the  Haymarket. 

Past  two  I cried  the  watchman,  as  we  sauntered  by 
him. 

''You  lie,  you  rascal,’^  said  I,  "you  have  passed  three 
now.” 

We  were  all  merry  enough  to  laugh  at  this  sally ; and 
seeing  a light  gleam  from  the  entrance  of  the  Royal 
Saloon,  we  knocked  at  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  unto 
us.  We  sat  down  at  the  only  spare  table  in  the  place, 
and  looked  round  at  the  smug  and  varmint  citizens  with 
whom  the  room  was  filled. 

"Hollo,  waiter!”  cried  Tringle,  "some  red  wine  negu,s 
— I know  not  why  it  is,  but  the  devil  himself  could  never 
cure  me  of  thirst.  Wine  and  I have  a most  chemical 
attraction  for  each  other.  You  know  that  we  always 


324 


PELHAM;  OR 


estimate  the  force  of  attraction  between  bodies  by  the 
force  required  to  separate  them  ! 

While  we  were  all  three  as  noisy  and  nonsensical  as 
our  best  friends  could  have  wished  us,  a new  stranger 
entered,  approached,  looked  round  the  room  for  a seat, 
and  seeing  none,  walked  leisurely  up  to  our  table,  and 
accosted  me  with  a — “ Ha  ! Mr.  Pelham,  how  d’ye  do  ? 
Well  met ; by  your  leave  I will  sip  my  grog  at  your  table. 
No  offence  I hope  — more  the  merrier,  eh?  — Waiter,  a 
glass  of  hot  brandy  and  water  — not  too  weak.  D’ye 
hear  ? ” 

Need  I say  tjiat  this  pithy  and  pretty  address  proceeded 
from  the  mouth  of  Mr.  Tom  Thornton  ? He  was  some- 
what more  than  half  drunk,  and  his  light,  prying  eyes 
twinkled  dizzily  in  his  head.  Dartmore,  who  was,  and 
is,  the  best-natured  fellow  alive,  hailed  the  signs  of  his 
intoxication  as  a sort  of  freemasonry,  and  made  way  for 
him  beside  himself.  I could  not  help  remarking,  that 
Thornton  seemed  singularly  less  sleek  than  heretofore  : 
his  coat  was  out  at  the  elbows,  his  linen  was  torn  and 
soiled  ; there  was  not  a vestige  of  the  vulgar  spruceness 
about  him  which  was  formerly  one  of  his  most  prominent 
characteristics.  He  had  also  lost  a great  deal  of  the 
florid  health  formerly  visible  in  his  face  ; his  cheeks  seemed 
sunk  and  haggard,  his  eyes  hollow,  and  his  complexion 
sallow  and  squalid,  in  spite  of  the  flush  which  intemper- 
ance spread  over  it  at  the  moment.  However,  he  was  in 
high  spirits,  and  soon  made  himself  so  entertaining  that 
Dartmore  and  Tringle  grew  charmed  with  him. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


325 


As  for  me,  the  antipathy  I had  to  the  man  sobered  and 
silenced  me  for  the  rest  of  the  night  ; and  finding  that 
Dartmore  and  his  friend  were  eager  for  an  introduction 
to  some  female  friends  of  Thornton’s,  whom  he  mentioned 
in  terms  of  high  praise,  I tore  myself  from  them,  and 
made  the  best  of  my  way  home. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

Illi  mors  gravis  incubat 
Qui,  notus  nimis  omnibus, 

Ignotus  moritur  sibi. — Seneca. 

Nous  serons  par  nos  lois  les  juges  des  ouvrages. 

Femmes  Savantes. 

Whilst  we  do  speak,  our  fire 
Doth  into  ice  expire  ; 

Flames  turn  to  frost, 

And,  ere  we  can 

Know  how  our  crow  turns  swan, 

Or  how  a silver  snow 
Springs  there,  where  jet  did  grow. 

Our  fading  spring  is  in  dull  winter  lost. 

Jaspar  Matne. 

Vincent  called  on  me  the  next  day.  I have  news 
for  you,”  said  he,  '‘though  somewhat  of  a lugubrious 
nature.  Lugete  Veneres  Cupidinesque  I You  remember 
the  Duchesse  de  Perpignan  ? ” 

“ I should  think  so,”  was  my  answer. 

“Well,  then,”  pursued  Vincent,  “she  is  no  more.  Her 

I. —28 


82G 


PELHAM;  OR 


death  was  worthy  of  her  life.  She  was  to  give  a biilliant 
entertainment  to  all  the  foreigners  at  Paris : the  day 
before  it  took  place,  a dreadful  eruption  broke  out  on  her 
complexion.  She  sent  for  the  doctors  in  despair.  ‘ Cure 
me  against  to-morrow,’  she  said,  ^ and  name  your  own 
reward.’  ^Madame,  it  is  impossible  to  do  so  with  safety 
to  your  health.’  ^Au  diahle  with  your  health  ! ” said  the 
Duchesse  ; ‘ what  is  health  to  an  eruption  ? ’ The  doctors 
took  the  hint;  an  external  application  was  used  — the 
Duchesse  woke  in  the  morning  as  beautiful  as  ever  — the 
entertainment  took  place  — she  was  the  Armida  of  the 
scene.  Supper  was  announced.  She  took  the  arm  of  the 

ambassador,  and  moved  through  the  crowd  amidst 

the  audible  admiration  of  all.  She  stopped  for  a moment 
at  the  door ; all  eyes  were  upon  her.  A fearful  and 
ghastly  convulsion  passed  over  her  countenance,  her  lips 
trembled,  she  fell  on  the  floor  with  the  most  terrible 
contortions  of  face  and  frame.  They  carried  her  to  bed. 
She  remained  for  some  days  insensible  ; when  she  recov- 
ered, she  asked  for  a looking-glass.  Her  whole  face  was 
drawn  on  one  side  ; not  a wreck  of  beauty  was  left ; — 
that  night  she  poisoned  herself ! ” 

I cannot  express  how  shocked  I was  at  this  information. 
Much  as  I had  cause  to  be  disgusted  with  the  conduct  of 
that  unhappy  woman,  I could  find  in  my  mind  no  feeling 
but  commiseration  and  horror  at  her  death  ; and  it  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  Vincent  persuaded  me  to  accept 
an  invitation  to  Lady  Roseville’s  for  the  evening,  to  meet 
Glanville  and  himself. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


32: 


However,  I cheered  up  as  the  night  came  on  ; ana 
though  mj  mind  was  still  haunted  with  the  tale  of  the 
morning,  it  was  neither  in  a musing  nor  a melancholy 
mood  that  I entered  the  drawing-room  at  Lady  E-ose- 
ville’s — “So  runs  the  world  away  I 

Glanville  was  there  in  his  customary  mourning. 

“ Pelham, he  said,  when  he  joined  me,  “ do  you  remem- 
ber at  Lady ’s  one  night,  I said  I would  introduce 

you  to  my  sister  ? I had  no  opportunity  then,  for  we  left 
the  house  before  she  returned  from  the  refreshment-room. 
May  I do  so  now?'^ 

I need  not  say  what  was  my  answer.  I followed  Glan- 
ville into  the  next  room  ; and,  to  my  inexpressible  aston- 
ishment and  delight,  discovered  in  his  sister  the  beautiful, 
the  never  forgotten  stranger  I had  seen  at  Cheltenham. 

For  once  in  my  life  I was  embarrassed — ray  bow  would 
have  shamed  a major  in  the  line,  and  my  stuttered  and 
irrelevant  address,  an  alderman  in  the  presence  of  His 
Majesty.  However,  a few  moments  sufficed  to  recover  me, 
and  I strained  every  nerve  to  be  as  agreeable  as  possible. 

After  I had  conversed  with  Miss  Glanville  for  some 
time.  Lady  Roseville  joined  us..  Stately  and  Juno-like, 
as  was  that  charming  personage  in  general,  she  relaxed 
into  a softness  of  manner  to  Miss  Glanville,  that  quite 
won  my  heart.  She  drew  her  to  a part  of  the  room, 
where  a very  animated  and  chiefly  literary  conversation 
was  going  on  — and  I,  resolving  to  make  the  best  of  my 
time,  followed  them,  and  once  more  ‘found  myself  seated 
beside  Miss  Glanville.  Lady  Roseville  was  on  the  other 


328 


PELHAM;  OR, 


side  of  mj  beautiful  companion  ; and  I observed  that, 
whenever  she  took  her  eyes  from  Miss  Glanville,  they 
always  rested  upon  her  brother,  who,  in  the  midst  of  the 
disputation  and  the  disputants,  sat  silent,  gloomy,  and 
absorbed. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  Scott’s  novels  ; thence 
on  novels  in  general ; and  finally  on  the  particular  one  of 
Anastasius. 

It  is  a thousand  pities,”  said  Vincent,  “ that  the  scene 
of  that  novel  is  so  far  removed  from  us.  But  it  is  a great 
misfortune  for  Hope  that  — 

‘ To  learning  he  narrowed  his  mind, 

And  gave  up  to  the  East  what  was  meant  for  mankind.* 

One  often  loses,  in  admiration  at  the  knowledge  of  pecu- 
liar costume,  the  deference  one  would  have  paid  to  the 
masterly  grasp  of  universal  character.” 

It  must  require,”  said  Lady  Roseville,  '^an  extraor- 
dinary combination  of  mental  powers  to  produce  a perfect 
novel.” 

‘‘One  so  extraordinary,”  answered  Vincent,  “that, 
though  we  have  one  perfect  epic  poem,  and  several  which 
pretend  to  perfection,  we  have  not  one  perfect  novel  in 
the  world.*  Gil  Bias  approaches  more  to  perfection  than 
any  other ; but  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  is  a want 
of  dignity,  of  moral  rectitude,  and  of  what  I may  term 
moral  beauty,  throughout  the  whole  book.  If  an  author 
could  combine  the  various  excellencies  of  Scott  and  Le 

* For  Don  Quixote  is  not  what  Lord  Vincent  terms  a wovfZ,  viz., 
the  actual  representation  of  real  life. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


329 


Sage,  with  a greater  and  more  metaphysical  knowledge 
of  morals  than  either,  we  might  expect  from  him  the 
perfection  we  have  not  yet  discovered  since  the  days  of 
Apuleius.’^ 

Speaking  of  morals,^’  said  Lady  Roseville,  “do  you 
not  think  every  novel  should  have  its  distinct  object,  and 
inculcate,  throughout,  some  one  peculiar  moral,  such  as 
many  of  Marmontel’s  and  Miss  Edgeworth^s  ? 

“ 1^0  ! ’’  answered  Yincent ; “ every  good  novel  has  one 
great  end  — the  same  in  all  — viz,  the  increasing  our 
knowledge  of  the  heart.  It  is  thus  that  a novel-writer 
must  be  a philosopher.  Whoever  succeeds  in  showing 
us  more  accurately  the  nature  of  ourselves  and  species, 
has  done  science,  and,  consequently,  virtue,  the  most  im- 
portant benefit;  for  every  is  a moral.  This  great 
and  universal  end,  I am  led  to  imagine,  is  rather  crippled 
than  extended  by  the  rigorous  attention  to  the  one  isolated 
moral  you  mention. 

“ Thus  Dryden,  in  his  Essay  on  the  Progress  of  Satire, 
very  rightly  prefers  Horace  to  Juvenal,  so  far  as  instruc- 
tion is  concerned ; because  the  miscellaneous  satires  of 
the  former  are  directed  against  every  vice  — the  more 
confined  ones  of  the  latter  (for  the  most  part)  only  against 
one.  All  mankind  is  the  field  the  novelist  should  culti- 
vate— all  truth,  the  moral  he  should  strive  to  bring  home. 
It  is  in  occasional  dialogue,  in  desultory  maxims,  in  deduc- 
tions from  events,  in  analysis  of  character,  that  he  should 
benefit  and  instruct.  It  is  not  enough  — and  I wish  a 
certain  novelist  who  has  lately  arisen  would  remember 
28* 


330 


PELHAM;  OR, 


this  — it  is  not  enough  for  a writer  to  have  a good  heart, 
amiable  sympathies,  and  what  are  termed  high  feelings, 
in  order  to  shape  out  a moral,  either  true  in  itself,  or 
beneficial  in  its  inculcation.  Before  he  touches  his  tale, 
he  should  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  intricate 
science  of  morals,  and  the  metaphysical,  as  well  as  the 
more  open,  operations  of  the  mind.  If  his  knowledge  is 
not  deep  and  clear,  his  love  of  the  good  may  only  lead 
him  into  error;  and  he  may  pass  off  the  prejudices  of  a 
susceptible  heart  for  the  precepts  of  virtue.  Would  to 
Heaven  that  people  would  think  it  necessary  to  be  in- 
structed before  they  attempt  to  instruct ! ^Dire  simple- 
ment  que  la  eertu  est  vertu  parce  qu'elle  est  bonne  en 
son  fonds,  et  le  vice  tout  an  contraire,  ce  n^est  pas  les 
faire  connoitred  For  me,  if  I were  to  write  a novel,  I 
would  first  make  myself  an  acute,  active,  and  vigilant 
observer  of  men  and  manners.  Secondly,  I would,  after 
having  thus  noted  effects  by  action  in  the  world,  trace  the 
causes  by  books,  and  meditation  in  my  closet.  It  is  then, 
and  not  till  then,  that  I would  study  the  lighter  graces  of 
style  and  decoration  ; nor  would  I give  the  rein  to  inven- 
tion, till  I was  convinced  that  it  would  create  neither 
monsters  of  men,  nor  falsities  of  truth.  For  my  vehicles 
of  instruction  or  amusement,  I would  have  people  as  they 
are  — neither  worse  nor  better  — and  the  moral  they 

p 

should  convey,  should  be  rather  through  jest  or  irony, 
than  gravity  and  seriousness.  There  never  was  an  imper- 
fection corrected  by  portraying  perfection  ; and  if  levity 
and  ridicule  be  said  so  easily  to  allure  to  sin,  1 do  not  see 


4DVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  331 


w nj  il:cj  should  not  be  used  in  defence  of  virtue.  Of 
th’^j  we  msy  be  sure,  that  as  laughter  is  a distinct  indica- 
tica  of  the  human  race,  so  there  never  was  a brute  mind 
or  a ravage  heart  that  loved  to  indulge  in  it.’’  * 

Vincent  ceased. 

“ Thank  you,  my  lord,”  said  Lady  Roseville,  as  she 
took  Miss  Glanville’s  arm  and  moved  from  the  table. 
^‘For  once  you  have  condescended  to  give  us  your  own 
sense,  and  not  other  people’s ; you  have  scarce  made  a 
single  quotation.” 

‘^Accept,”  answered  Vincent  rising, 

“ ‘Accept  a miracle  instead  of  wit.’  * 


* The  Sage  of  Malmesbury  expresses  a very  different  opinion  of 
the  philosophy  of  laughter,  and,  for  my  part,  I think  his  doctrine, 
in  great  measure,  though  not  altogether  — true.  See  JJobbes  on 
Human  Nature,  and  the  answer  to  him  in  CampbeWs  Rhetoric.-^ 
Author. 


332 


PELHAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

Oh  ! I love  ! — Methinks 
This  word  of  love  is  fit  for  all  the  world, 

And  that,  for  gentle  hearts,  another  name 

Should  speak  of  gentler  thoughts  than  the  world  owns. 

B.  Shellet. 

For  me,  I ask  no  more  than  honor  gives. 

To  think  me  yours,  and  rank  me  with  your  friends. 

Shakspeare. 

Callous  and  worldly  as  I may  seem,  from  the  tone  of 
these  memoirs,  I can  say,  safely,  that  one  of  the  most 
delicious  evenings  I ever  spent,  was  the  first  of  my  intro- 
duction to  Miss  Glanville.  I went  home  intoxicated  with 
a subtle  spirit  of  enjoyment  that  gave  a new  zest  and 
freshness  to  life.  Two  little  hours  seemed  to  have  changed 
the  whole  course  of  my  thoughts  and  feelings. 

There  was  nothing  about  Miss  Glanville  like  a heroine 
— I hate  your  heroines.  She  had  none  of  that  modest 
ease,’^  and  quiet  dignity,’’  of  which  certain  writers  speak 
with  such  applause.  Thank  Heaven,  she  was  alive!  She 
had  great  sense,  but  the  playfulness  of  a child  ; extreme 
rectitude  of  mind,  but  with  the  tenderness  of  a gazelle  : 
if  she  laughed,  all  her  countenance,  lips,  eyes,  forehead, 
cheeks,  laughed  too  : “ Paradise  seemed  opened  in  her 
face  : ” if  she  looked  grave,  it  was  such  a lofty  and  iip^ 
ward,  yet  sweet  and  gentle  gravity,  that  you  might  (had 


adventures  of  a gentleman. 


333 


you  been  gifted  with  the  least  imagination)  have  supposed, 
from  the  model  of  her  countenance,  a new  order  of  angels 
between  the  cherubim  and  the  seraphim,  the  angels  of 
Love  and  Wisdom.  She  was  not,  perhaps,  quite  so  silent 
in  society  as  my  individual  taste  would  desire  ; but  when 
she  spoke,  it  was  with  a propriety  of  thought  and  diction 
which  made  me  lament  when  her  voice  had  ceased.  It 
was  as  if  something  beautiful  in  creation  had  stopped 
suddenly. 

Enough  of  this  now.  I was  lazily  turning  (the  morn- 
ing after  Lady  Roseville’s)  over  some  old  books,  when 
Vincent  entered.  I observed  that  his  face  was  flushed, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  more  than  their  usual  brilliancy. 
He  looked  carefully  round  the  room,  and  then,  approach- 
ing his  chair  towards  mine,  said,  in  a low  tone  — 

Pelham,  I have  something  of  importance  on  my  mind 
which  I wish  to  discuss  with  you  ; but  let  me  intreat  you 
to  lay  aside  your  usual  levity,  and  pardon  me  if  I say 
affectation  ; meet  me  with  the  candor  and  plainness  which 
are  the  real  distinctions  of  your  character.’’ 

'‘My  Lord  Vincent,”  I replied;  "there  are,  in  your 
words,  a depth  and  solemnity  which  pierce  me,  through 

one  of  N ’s  best  stuffed  coats,  even  to  the  very  heart 

I will  hear  you  as  you  desire,  from  the  alpha  to  the  omega 
of  your  discourse.” 

"My  dear  friend,”  said  Vincent,  "I  have  often  seen 
that,  in  spite  of  all  your  love  of  pleasure,  you  have  your 
mind  continually  turned  towards  higher  and  graver  ob- 
jects , and  I have  thought  the  better  of  your  talents,  and 


B34 


PELHAM;  OR, 


of  your  future  success,  for  the  little  parade  you  make  of 
the  one,  and  the  little  care  you  appear  to  pay  to  the 
other : for 

‘ ’tis  a common  proof. 

That  lowliness  is  young  Ambition’s  ladder.’ 

I have  also  observed  that  you  have,  of  late,  been  much 
to  Lord  Dawton’s  ; I have  even  heard  that  you  have  been 
twice  closeted  with  him.  It  is  well  known  that  that  person 
entertains  hopes  of  leading  the  opposition  to  the  grata 
arva  of  the  Treasury  benches  ; and  notwithstanding  the 
years  in  which  the  Whigs  have  been  out  of  office,  there 
are  some  persons  who  pretend  to  foresee  the  chance  of  a 
coalition  between  them  and  Mr,  Gaskell,  to  whose  prin- 
ciples it  is  also  added  that  they  have  been  gradually 
assimilating.” 

Here  Vincent  paused  a moment,  and  looked  full  at  me. 
I met  his  eye  with  a glance  as  searching  as  his  own.  His 
look  changed,  and  he  continued. 

^^Now  listen  to  me,  Pelham:  such  a coalition  never 
can  take  place.  You  smile  : I repeat  it.  It  is  my  object 
to  form  a third  party;  perhaps,  while  the  tw^o  great  sects 
* anticipate  the  cabinet  designs  of  fate,’  there  may  sud- 
denly come  by  a third,  ^ to  whom  the  whole  shall  be  re- 
ferred.’ Say  that  you  think  it  not  impossible  that  you 
may  join  us,  and  I will  tell  you  more.” 

I paused  for  three  minutes  before  I answered  Vincent. 
I then  said  — “ I thank  you  very  sincerely  for  your  pro- 
posal : tell  me  the  names  of  two  of  your  designed  party, 
and  I will  answer  you.” 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


335 


Lord  Lincoln  and  Lord  Lesborougb.” 

What  ! said  I — **  the  Whig,  who  says  in  the  Tipper 
House,  that  whatever  may  be  the  distresses  of  the  people, 
they  shall  not  be  gratified  at  the  cost  of  one  of  the  des- 
potic privileges  of  the  aristocracy.  Go  to  ! — I will  have 
none  of  him.  As  to  Lesborough,  he  is  a fool  and  a 
boaster  — who  is  always  puffing  his  own  vanity  with  the 
windiest  pair  of  oratorical  bellows  that  ever  were  made 
by  air  and  brass,  for  the  purpose  of  sound  and  smoke, 
^signifying  nothing.^  Go  to  ! — I will  have  none  of  him 
either.^’ 

“You  are  right  in  your  judgment  of  my  confreres, 
answered  Yincent ; “ but  we  must  make  use  of  bad  tools 
for  good  purposes.’^ 

“No  — no!’’  said  I;  “the  commonest  carpenter  will 
tell  you  the  reverse.” 

Yincent  eyed  me  suspiciously.  “ Look  you  ! ” said  he  : 
“ I know  well  that  no  man  loves,  better  than  you,  place, 
power,  and  reputation.  Do  you  grant  this  ? ” 

“ I do,”  was  my  reply. 

“Join  with  us  ; I will  place  you  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons immediately  : if  we  succeed,  you  shall  have  the  first 
and  the  best  post  I can  give  you.  Now  — ' under  which 
king,  Bezonian,  speak  or  die!’” 

“ I answer  you  in  the  words  of  the  same  worthy  you 
quote,”  said  I — “ ‘A  foutra  for  thine  office.’— Do  you 
know,  Yincent,  that  I have,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you, 
such  a thing  as  a conscience  ? It  is  true  I forget  it  now 
and  then  ; but  in  a public  capacity,  the  recollection  of 


336 


PELHAM;  OR, 


others  would  put  me  very  soon  in  mind  of  it.  I know 
your  party  well.  I cannot  imagine  — forgive  me  — one 
more  injurious  to  the  country,  nor  one  more  revolting  to 
myself ; and  I do  positively  affirm,  that  I would  sooner 
feed  my  poodle  on  paunch  and  liver,  instead  of  cream  and 
fricassee,  than  to  be  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  men 
like  Lincoln  and  Lesborough  ; who  talk  much,  who  per- 
form nothing  — who  join  ignorance  of  every  principle  of 
legislation  to  indifference  for  every  benefit  to  the  people  : 
— who  are  full  of  * wise  saws,’  but  empty  of  ‘ modern 
instances’ — who  level  upwards,  and  trample  downwards 
— and  would  only  value  the  ability  you  are  pleased  to 
impute  to  me,  in  the  exact  proportion  that  a sportsman 
values  the  ferret,  that  burrows  for  his  pleasure,  and  de- 
stroys for  his  interest.  Your  party  can’t  stand  ! ” 

Vincent  turned  pale  — ^‘And  how  long,”  said  he,  have 
you  learnt  ‘the  principles  of  legislation,’  and  this  mighty 
affection  for  the  ‘ benefit  of  the  people  ? ’ ” 

“ Ever  since,”  said  I,  coldly,  “ I learnt  any  thing  I The 
first  piece  of  real  knowledge  I ever  gained  was,  that  my 
interest  was  incorporated  with  that  of  the  beings  with 
whom  I had  the  chance  of  being  cast : if  I injure  them,  I 
injure  myself : if  I can  do  them  any  good,  I receive  the 
benefit  in  common  with  the  rest.  Now,  as  I have  a great 
love  for  that  personage  who  has  now  the  honor  of  address- 
ing you,  I resolved  to  be  honest  for  his  sake.  So  much 
for  my  affection  for  the  benefit  of  the  people.  As  to  the 
little  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  legislation,  on  which 
you  are  kind  enough  to  compliment  me,  look  over  tfie 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


337 


books  on  this  table,  or  the  writings  in  this  desk,  and  know, 
that  ever  since  I had  the  misfortune  of  parting  from  you 
at  Cheltenham,  there  has  not  been  a day  in  which  I have 
spent  less  than  six  hours  reading  and  writing  on  that  sole 
feubject.  But  enough  of  this  — will  you  ride  to-day  ? ” 
Vincent  rose  slowly  — 

“ ‘ Gli  arditi  (said  he)  tuoi  voti 
Gia  noti  mi  sono ; 

Ma  invano  a quel  trono, 

Tu  aspiri  con  me: 

Trema  per  te  ! ’ ” 

trema*  (I  replied  out  of  the  same  opera) — * lo 
trema  — di  tel*** 

Well,’^  answered  Vincent,  and  his  fine  high  nature 
overcame  his  momentary  resentment  and  chagrin  at  my 
rejection  of  his  offer — “ Well,  I honor  you  for  your  sen- 
timents, though  they  are  opposed  to  my  own.  I may 
depend  on  your  secrecy  ? ** 

^‘You  may,^^  said  I. 

'‘I  forgive  you,  Pelham,’^  rejoined  Vincent:  ''we  part 
friends.^’ 

"Wait  one  moment,”  said  I,  "and  pardon  me,  if  I 
venture  to  speak  in  the  language  of  caution  to  one  in 
every  way  so  superior  to  myself.  No  one  (I  say  this  with 
a safe  conscience,  for  I never  flattered  my  friend  in  my  life, 
though  I have  often  adulated  my  enemy)  — no  one  has  a 
greater  admiration  for  your  talents  than  myself;  I desire 
eagerly  to  see  you  in  the  station  most  fit  for  their  display: 
pause  one  moment  before  you  link  yourself,  not  only  to  a 
1.  — 29  W 


^338 


PELHAM;  OR 


party,  but  to  principles  that  cannot  stand.  You  have 
only  to  exert  yourself,  and  you  may  either  lead  the  oppo- 
sition, or  be  among  the  foremost  in  the  administration. 
Take  something  certain,  rather  than  what  is  doubtful ; or 
at  least  stand  alone  : — such  is  my  belief  in  your  powers, 
if  fairly  tried,  that  if  you  were  not  united  to  those  men, 
I would  promise  you  faithfully  to  stand  or  fall  by  you 
alone,  even  if  we  had  not  through  all  England  another 

soldier  to  our  standard  ; but 

“ I thank  you,  Pelham, said  Vincent,  interrupting  me  : 
^"till  we  meet  in  public  as  enemies,  we  are  friends  in  private 
— I desire  no  more.  Farewell.^’ 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

II  vaut  mieux  employer  notre  esprit  a supporter  les  infortunea 
qui  nous  arrivent,  qu’a  pr^voir  celles  qui  nous  peuvent  arriver. 

Rochefoucault. 

No  sooner  had  Vincent  departed  than  I buttoned  my 
coat,  and  sallied  out  through  a cold  easterly  wind  to  Lord 
Lawton’s.  It  was  truly  said  by  the  political  quoter,  that 
I had  been  often  to  that  nobleman’s,  although  I have  not 
thought  it  advisable  to  speak  of  my  political  adventures 
hitherto.  I have  before  said  that  I was  ambitious  ; and 
tlm  sagacious  have  probably  already  discovered,,  that  I 
was  somewhat  less  ignorant  than  it  was  my  usual  pride 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTELMAN. 


339 


and  pleasure  to  appear.  I had  established,  among  my 
uncle’s  friends,  a reputation  for  talent ; and  no  sooner  had 
I been  personally  introduced  to  Lord  Dawton,  than  I 
found  myself  courted  by  that  personage  in  a manner 
equally  gratifying  and  uncommon.  When  I lost  my  seat 
in  Parliament,  Dawton  assured  me  that,  before  the  session 
was  over,  I should  be  returned  for  one  of  his  boroughs  ; 
and  though  my  mind  revolted  at  the  idea  of  becoming 
dependent  on  any  party,  I made  little  scruple  of  promising 
conditionally  to  ally  myself  to  his.  So  far  had  affairs 
gone,  when  I was  honored  with  Vincent’s  proposal.  I 
found  Lord  Dawton  in  his  library,  with  the  Marquis  of 
Clandonald  (Lord  Dartmore’s  father,  and,  from  his  rank 
and  property,  classed  among  the  highest,  as,  from  his 
vanity  and  restlessness,  he  was  among  the  most  active, 
members  of  the  Opposition).  Clandonald  left  the  room 
when  I entered.  Few  men  in  office  are  wise  enough  to 
trust  the  young  ; as  if  the  greater  zeal  and  sincerity  of 
youth  did  not  more  than  compensate  for  its  appetite  for 
the  gay,  or  its  thoughtlessness  of  the  serious. 

When  we  w^ere  alone,  Dawton  said  to  me,  We  are  in 

great  despair  at  the  motion  upon  the , to  be  made 

in  the  Lower  House.  We  have  not  a single  person  whom 
we  can  depend  upon,  for  the  sweeping  and  convincing 
answer  we  ought  to  make ; and  though  we  should  at  least 

muster  our  full  force  in  voting,  our  whipper-in,  poor , 

is  so  ill  that  I fear  we  shall  make  but  a very  pitiful  figure.’^ 
Give  ni'e,”  said  I,  “full  permission  to  go  forth  into  the 
high-ways  and  by-ways,  and  I will  engage  to  bring  a 


840 


PELHAM;  OR, 


whole  legion  of  dandies  to  the  House  door.  I can  go  no 
farther;  your  other  agents  must  do  the  r-est.’’ 

“ Thank  you,  rny  dear  young  friend/’  said  Lord  Dawton, 
eagerly;  ‘‘thank  you  a thousand  times  : we  must  really 
get  you  in  the  House  as  soon  as  possible  ; you  will  serve 
us  more  than  I can  express.” 

I bowed,  with  a sneer  I could  not  repress.  Dawton 
pretended  not  to  observe  it.  “ Come,”  said  I,  “my  lord, 
we  have  no  time  to  lose.  I shall  meet  you,  perhaps,  at 
Brookes’s,  to-morrow  evening,  and  report  to  you  respect- 
ing my  success.” 

Lord  Dawton  pressed  my  hand  warmly,  and  followed 
me  to  the  door. 

“ He  is  the  best  premier  we  could  have,”  thought  I ; 
“but  he  deceives  himself,  if  he  thinks  Henry  Pelham  will 
play  the  jackall  to  his  lion.  He  will  soon  see  that  I shall 
keep  for  myself  what  he  thinks  I hunt  for  him.”  I passed 
through  Pall  Mall,  and  thought  of  Glanville.  I knocked 
at  his  door  : he  was  at  home.  I found  him  leaning  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand,  in  a thoughtful  position  ; an  open 
letter  was  before  him. 

“ Read  that,”  he  said,  pointing  to  it. 

I did  so.  It  was  from  the  agent  to  the  Duke  of , 

and  contained  his  nomination  to  an  opposition  borough. 

“A  new  toy,  Pelham,”  said  he,  faintly  smiling;  “but  a 
little  longer,  and  they  will  all  be  broken  — the  rattle  will 
be  the  last.” 

“ My  dear,  dear  Glanville,”  said  I,  much  affected,  “ do 
not  talk  thus ; you  have  everything  before  you.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  3il 

“ Yes,’’  interrupted  Glanville,  “ you  are  right,  for  ever} 
thing  left  for  me  is  in  the  grave.  Do  you  imagine  that  I 
can  taste  one  of  the  possessions  which  fortune  has  heaped 
upon  me  ; that  I have  one  healthful  faculty,  one  sense  of 
enjoyment,  among  the  hundred  which  other  men  are  ' aeira 
to  ? ’ When  did  you  ever  see  me  for  a moment  happy  ? 
I live,  as  it  were,  on  a rock,  barren,  and  herbless,  and 
sapless,  and  cut  olf  from  all  human  fellowship  and  inter- 
course. I had  only  a single  object  left  to  live  for,  when 
you  saw  ire  at  Paris  ; I have  gratified  that,  and  the  end 
and  purpose  o'  my  existence  is  fulfilled.  Heaven  is  mer- 
ciful ; but  a little  while,  and  this  feverish  and  unquiet 
spirit  shall  be  at  rest.” 

I took  his  hand  and  pressed  it. 

Feel,”  said  he,  this  dry,  burning  skin  ; count  my 
pulse  through  the  variations  of  a single  minute,  and  you 
will  cease  either  to  pity  me,  or  to  speak  to  me  of  life. 
For  months  I have  had,  night  and  day,  a wasting  — 
wasting  fever,  of  brain  and  heart,  and  frame;  the  fire 
works  well,  and  the  fuel  is  nearly  consumed.” 

He  paused,  and  we  were  both  silent.  In  fact,  I was 
shocked  at  the  fever  of  his  pulse,  no  less  than  affected  at 
the  despondency  of  his  words.  At  last  I spoke  to  him  of 
medical  advice. 

‘ Canst  thou,’  ” he  said,  with  a deep  solemnity  of  voice 
and  manner,  ‘‘  ^ administer  to  a mind  diseased  — pluck 
from  the  memory’  * * * * Ah  ! away  with  the  quotation 
and  the  reflection.”  And  he  sprang  from  the  sofa,  and, 
going  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and  leaned  out  for  a few 
29* 


S42 


PELHAM:  OR 


moments  in  silence.  When  he  turned  again  towards  me, 
his  manner  had  regained  its  usual  quiet.  He  spoke  about 

the  important  motion  approaching  on  the , and 

promised  to  attend  ; and  then,  by  degrees,  I led  him  to 
talk  of  his  sister. 

He  mentioned  her  with  enthusiasm.  Beautiful  as  Ellen 
is,”  he  said,  her  face  is  the  very  faintest  reflection  of  her 
mind.  Her  habits  of  thought  are  so  pure,  that  every 
impulse  is  a virtue.  Never  was  there  a person  to  whom 
goodness  was  so  easy.  Vice  seems  something  so  opposite 
to  her  nature,  that  I cannot  imagine  it  possible  for  her 
to  sin.” 

“ Will  you  not  call  with  me  at  your  mother’s  ? ” said 
I.  “I  am  going  there  to-day.” 

Glanville  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  we  went  at  once 
to  Lady  Glanville’s  in  Berkeley-square.  We  were  admit- 
ted into  his  mother’s  boudoir.  She  was  alone  with  Miss 
Glanville.  Our  conversation  soon  turned  from  common- 
place topics  to  those  of  a graver  nature  ; the  deep  melan- 
choly of  Glanville’s  mind  imbued  all  his  thoughts,  when 
he  suffered  himself  to  express  them. 

Why,”  said  Lady  Glanville,  who  seemed  painfully 
fond  of  her  son,  why  do  you  not  go  more  into  the  world  ? 
You  suffer  your  mind  to  prey  upon  itself,  till  it  destroys 
you.  My  dear,  dear  son,  how  very  ill  you  seem  ! ” 

Ellen,  whose  eyes  swam  in  tears,  as  they  gazed  upon 
her  brother,  laid  her  beautiful  hand  upon  his,  and  said. 

For  my  mother’s  sake,  Reginald,  do  take  moie  care  of 
vourself ; vou  want  air,  and  exercise,  and  amusement.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  34:^ 

answered  Glanville,  I want  nothing  but  occu- 
pation ; and,  thanks  to  the  Duke  of , I have  now 

got  it.  I am  chosen  member  for  

I am  too  happy, said  the  proud  mother;  “you  will 
now  be  all  I have  ever  predicted  for  you  ; ” and,  in  her 
joy  at  the  moment,  she  forgot  the  hectic  of  his  cheek,  and 
the  hollowness  of  his  eye. 

“ Do  you  remember,”  said  Reginald,  turning  to  hia 
sister,  “ those  beautiful  lines  in  my  favorite  Ford  — 

* Glories 

Of  human  greatness  are  but  pleasing  dreams. 

And  shadows  soon  decaying.  On  the  stage 
Of  my  mortality,  my  youth  has  acted 
Some  scenes  of  vanity,  drawn  out  at  length 
By  varied  pleasures  — sweetened  in  the  mixture, 

But  tragical  in  issue.  Beauty,  pomp, 

With  every  sensuality  our  giddiness 
Doth  frame  an  idol  — are  inconstant  friends 
When  any  troubled  passion  makes  us  halt 
On  the  unguarded  castle  of  the  mind.’  ” 

“Your  verses,”  said  I,  “are  beautiful,  even  to  me,  who 
have  no  soul  for  poetry,  and  never  wrote  a line  in  my  life. 
But  I love  not  their  philosophy.  In  all  sentiments  that 
are  impregnated  with  melancholy,  and  instil  sadness  as  a 
moral,  I question  the  wisdom,  and  dispute  the  truth. 
There  is  no  situation  in  life  which  we  cannot  sweeten,  or 
embitter,  at  will.  If  the  past  is  gloomy,  I do  not  see  the 
necessity  of  dwelling  upon  it.  If  the  mind  can  make  one 
vigorous  exertion,  it  can  another : the  same  energy  you 
put  forth  in  acquiring  knowledge,  would  also  enable  you 
to  baffle  misfortune.  Determine  not  to  think  upon  what 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Sii 

is  painfui : resolutely  turn  away  from  every  thing  that 
recalls  it;  bend  all  your  attention  to  some  new  and  en- 
grossing object ; do  this,  and  you  defeat  the  past.  You 
smile,  as  if  this  were  impossible  ; yet  it  is  not  an  iota  more 
so,  than  to  tear  one’s  self  from  a favorite  pursuit,  and 
addict  one’s  self  to  an  object  unwelcome  to  one  at  first. 
This  the  mind  does  continually  through  life  : so  can  it  also 
do  the  other,  if  you  will  but  make  an  equal  exertion.  Nor 
docs  it  seem  to  me  natural  to  the  human  heart  to  look 
much  to  the  past ; all  its  plans,  its  projects,  its  aspirations, 
are  for  the  future  ; it  is  for  the  future,  and  in  the  future, 
that  we  live.  Our  very  passions,  when  most  agitated,  are 
most  anticipative.  Revenge,  avarice,  ambition,  love,  the 
desire  of  good  and  evil,  are  all  fixed  and  pointed  to  some 
distant  goal ; to  look  backwards,  is  like  walking  backwards 
— against  our  proper  formation  : the  mind  does  not  readily 
adopt  the  habit,  and  when  once  adopted,  it  will  readily 
return  to  its  natural  bias.  Oblivion  is,  therefore,  a more 
easily  obtained  boon  than  we  imagine.  Forgetfulness  of 
the  past  is  purchased  by  increasing  our  anxiety  for  the 
future.” 

I paused  for  a moment,  but  Glanville  did  not  answer  me  ; 
and,  encouraged  by  a look  from  Ellen,  I continued  — You 
remember  that,  according  to  an  old  creed,  if  we  were 
given  memory  as  a cur^e,  we  were  also  given  hope  as  a 
blessing.  Counteract  the  one  by  the  other.  In  my  own 
life,  I have  committed  many  weak,  perhaps  many  wicked 
actions  ; I have  chased  away  their  remembrance,  though 
I have  transplanted  their  warning  to  the  future.  As  the 
body  involuntarily  avoids  what  is  hurtful  to  it,  without 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


345 


tracing  the  association  to  its  first  experience,  so  the  mind 
insensibly  shuns  what  has  formerly  afflicted  it,  even  without 
palpably  recalling  the  remembrance  of  the  affliction. 

The  Roman  philosopher  placed  the  secret  of  human 
happiness  in  the  one  maxim  — ^not  to  admire.’  I never 
could  exactly  comprehend  the  sense  of  the  moral : my 
maxim  for  the  same  object  would  be  — * never  to  regret.’” 

“Alas  ! my  dear  friend,”  said  Glanville  — “ we  are  great 
philosophers  to  each  other,  but  not  to  ourselves ; the 
moment  we  begin  to  feel  sorrow,  we  cease  to  reflect  on 
its  wisdom.  Time  is  the  only  comforter;  your  maxims 
are  very  true,  but  they  confirm  me  in  my  opinion  — that 
it  is  in  vain  for  us  to  lay  down  fixed  precepts  for  the  regu- 
lation of  the  mind,  so  long  as  it  is  dependent  upon  the 
body.  Happiness  and  its  reverse  are  constitutional  in 
many  persons,  and  it  is  then  only  that  they  are  independent 
of  circumstances.  Make  the  health,  the  frames  of  all  men, 
alike  — make  their  nerves  of  the  same  susceptibility — - 
their  memories  of  the  same  bluntness,  or  acuteness  — and 
I will  then  allow  that  you  can  give  rules  adapted  to  all 
men  ; till  then,  your  maxim,  ‘never  to  regret,’  is  as  idle 
as  Horace’s  ‘never  to  admire.’  It  may  be  wise  to  you 
— it  is  impossible  to  me!” 

With  these  last  words,  Glanville’s  voice  faltered,  and  I 
felt  averse  to  push  the  argument  further.  Ellen’s  eye 
caught  mine,  and  gave  me  a look  so  kind,  and  almost 
grateful,  that  I forgot  every  thing  else  in  the  world.  A 
few  moments  afterwards  a friend  of  Lady  Glanville’s  was 
announced,  and  I left  the  room. 


PELHAM;  OB, 


S4(> 


CHAPTER  LT. 

Intus,  et  in  jecore  segro, 

Nascuntur  domini  — Persius. 

The  next  two  or  three  days  I spent  in  visiting  all  my 
male  friends  in  the  Lower  House,  and  engaging  them  to 
dine  with  me,  preparatorily  to  the  great  act  of  voting  on 
’s  motion.  I led  them  myself  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  not  feeling  sufficiently  interested  in  the  debate 
to  remain,  as  a stranger,  where  I ought,  in  my  own  opinion, 
to  have  acted  as  a performer,  I went  to  Brooke’s  to  wait 
the  result.  Lord  Gravelton,  a stout,  bluff,  six-foot  noble- 
man, with  a voice  like  a Stentor,  was  ‘‘  blowing  up  ” the 

waiters  in  the  coffee-room.  Mr. , the  author  of , 

was  conning  the  Courier  in  a corner  ; and  Lord  Armadil- 
leros,  the  haughtiest  and  most  honorable  peer  in  the 
calendar,  was  monopolizing  the  drawing-room,  with  his 
right  foot  on  one  hob  and  his  left  on  the  other.  I sat 
myself  down  in  silence,  and  looked  over  the  “crack  article  ” 
in  the  Edinburgh.  By  and  by,  the  room  got  fuller ; every 
one  spoke  of  the  motion  before  the  House,  and  anticipated 
the  merits  of  the  speeches,  and  the  numbers  of  the  voters. 

At  last  a principal  member  entered  — a crowd  gathered 
round  him.  “I  have  heard,”  he  said,  “the  most  extraor- 
dinary speech,  for  the  combination  of  knowledge  and 
imagination,  that  I ever  recollect  to  have  listened  to.” 


ADVENTURES  F A GENTLEMAN. 


341 


‘^Frora  Gaskell,  I suppose  was  the  universal  cry. 

**  No,”  said  Mr Gaskell  has  not  yet  spoken.  It 

w^as  from  a young  man  who  has  only  just  taken  his  seat. 
It  was  received  with  the  most  unanimous  cheers,  and  was, 
indeed,  a remarkable  display.” 

What  is  his  name  ? ” I asked,  already  half  foreboding 
the  answer. 

''I  only  just  learnt  it  as  I left  the  House,”  replied  Mr. 
; “the  speaker  was  Sir  Reginald  Glanville.” 

Then,  every  one  of  those  whom  I had  often  before  heard 
censure  Glanville  for  his  rudeness,  or  laugh  at  him  for  his 
eccentricity,  opened  their  mouths  in  congratulations  to 
their  own  wisdom,  for  having  long  admired  his  talents  and 
predicted  his  success. 

I left  the  “ turba  Bemi  sequens  fortunam ; ” I felt 
agitated  and  feverish ; those  who  have  unexpectedly 
heard  of  the  success  of  a man  for  whom  great  affection  is 
blended  with  greater  interest,  can  understand  the  restless- 
ness of  mind  with  which  I wandered  into  the  streets. 
The  air  was  cold  and  nipping.  I was  buttoning  my  coat 
round  my  chest,  when  I heard  a voice  say,  “You  have 
dropped  your  glove,  Mr.  Pelham.” 

The  speaker  was  Thornton.  I thanked  him  coldly  for 
his  civility,  and  was  going  on,  when  he  said,  “ If  your 
way  is  up  Pall  Mall,  I have  no  objection  to  join  you  for 
a few  minutes.” 

I bowed  with  some  hauteur ; but  as  I seldom  refuse 
any  opportunity  of  knowing  more  perfectly  individual 


PELHAM;  OR, 


character,  I said  I should  be  happy  of  his  company  so 
long  as  our  way  lay  together. 

“ It  is  a cold  night,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  Thornton,  after 
a pause.  “I  have  been  dining  at  Hatchett’s,  with  an  old 
Paris  acquaintance : I am  sorry  we  did  not  meet  more 
often  in  France,  but  I was  so  taken  up  with  my  friend 
Mr.  Warburton.” 

As  Thornton  uttered  that  name,  he  looked  hard  at  me, 
and  then  added,  “ By  the  by,  I saw  you  with  Sir  Reginald 
Glanville  the  other  day  ; you  know  him  well,  I presume 
Tolerably  well,”  said  I,  with  indifference. 

What  a strange  character  he  is,”  rejoined  Thornton  ; 
“7  also  have  known  him  for  some  years,”  and  again 
Thornton  looked  pryingly  into  my  countenance.  Poor 
fool ! it  was  not  for  a penetration  like  his  to  read  the  cor 
inscrutahile  of  a man  born  and  bred  like  me,  in  the  con- 
summate dissimulation  of  boii  ton. 

“ He  is  very  rich,  is  he  not  ? ” said  Thornton,  aftc 
brief  silence. 

I believe  so,”  said  I. 

“ Humph  I ” answered  Thornton.  Things  have  grown 
better  with  him,  in  proportion  as  they  grew  worse  with 
me,  who  have  had  * as  good  luck  as  the  cow  that  stuck 
herself  with  her  own  horn.’  I suppose  he  is  not  too 
anxious  to  recollect  me  — ^poverty  parts  fellowship.’ 
Well,  hang  pride,  say  I ; give  me  an  honest  heart  all  the 
year  round,  in  summer  or  winter,  drought  or  plenty 
Would  to  heaven  some  kind  friend  would  lend  me  twenty 
pounds  I ” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  349 


To  this  wish  I made  no  reply.  Thornton  sighed. 

‘‘Mr.  Pelham,’’  renewed  he,  “it  is  true  I have  known 
jou  but  a short  time  — excuse  the  liberty  I take  — but  if 
you  could  lend  me  a trifle,  it  would  really  assist  me  very 
much.” 

“Mr.  Thornton,”  said  I,  “if  I knew  you  better,  and 
'’ould  serve  you  more,  you  might  apply  to  me  for  a more 
eal  assistance  than  any  bagatelle  I could  afford  you  would 
be.  If  twenty  pounds  would  really  be  of  service  to  you, 
I will  lend  them  to  you,  upon  this  condition,  that  you 
never  ask  me  for  another  farthing.” 

Thornton’s  face  brightened.  “A  thousand,  thousand — ” 
he  began. 

“No,”  interrupted  I,  “no  thanks,  only  your  promise.” 

“Upon  my  honor,”  said  Thornton,  “I  will  never  ask 
you  for  another  farthing.” 

“ There  is  honor  among  thieves,”  thought  I,  and  so  I 
took  out  the  sum  mentioned,  and  gave  it  to  him.  In  good 
earnest,  though  I disliked  the  man,  his  threadbare  gar- 
ments and  altered  appearance  moved  me  to  compassion. 
While  he  was  pocketing  the  money,  which  he  did  with 
the  most  unequivocal  delight,  a tall  figure  passed  us 
rapidly.  We  both  turned  at  the  same  instant,  and  recog- 
nized Glanville.  He  had  not  gone  seven  yards  beyond 
us,  before  we  observed  his  steps,  which  were  very  irregu- 
lar, pause  suddenly  ; a moment  afterwards  he  fell  against 
the  iron  rails  of  an  area;  we  hastened  towards  him;  he 
was  apparently  fainting.  His  countenance  was  perfectly 
livid,  and  marked  with  the  traces  of  extreme  exhaustion. 

I. —30 


350 


PELHAM;  OR, 


J 


I sent  Thornton  to  the  nearest  public-house  for  some 
Heater;  before  he  returned,  Glanville  had  recovered. 

^‘All — all — in  vain,’^  he  said,  slowly  and  unconsciously, 

death  is  the  only  Lethe. 

He  started  when  he  saw  me.  I made  him  lean  on  my 
arm,  and  we  walked  on  slowly. 

I have  already  heard  of  your  speech, said  I.  Glan- 
ville smiled  with  the  usual  faint  and  sicklied  expression, 
which  made  his  smile  painful  even  in  its  exceeding  sweet- 
ness. 

You  have  also  already  seen  its  effects  ; the  excitement 
was  too  much  for  me.’^ 

*^It  must  have  been  a proud  moment  when  you  sat 
down,”  said  I. 

It  was  one  of  the  bitterest  I ever  felt — it  was  fraught 
with  the  memory  of  the  dead.  What  are  all  honors  to 
me  now  ? — 0 God  ! 0 God  ! have  mercy  upon  me  ! ” 

And  Glanville  stopped  suddenly,  and  put  his  hand  to 
his  temples. 

By  this  time  Thornton  had  joined  us.  When  Glanville’s 
eyes  rested  upon  him,  a deep  hectic  rose  slowly  and  grad- 
ually over  his  cheeks.  Thornton  ^s  lip  curled  with  a ma- 
licious expression.  Glanville  marked  it,  and  his  brow 
grew  on  the  moment  as  black  as  night. 

“ Begone  1 ” he  said,  in  a loud  voice,  and  with  a flashing 
eye,  ‘‘  begone  instantly  ; I loathe  the  very  sight  of  so  base 
a thing.” 

Thornton’s  quick,  restless  eye,  grew  like  a living  coal. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


351 


and  he  bit  his  lip  so  violently  that  the  blood  gushed  out. 
He  made,  however,  no  other  answer  than  — 

‘‘You  seem  agitated  to-night,  Sir  Reginald;  I wish 
your  speedy  restoration  to  better  health.  Mr.  Pelham, 
your  servant.’^ 

Glanville  walked  on  in  silence  till  we  came  to  his  door ; 
we  parted  there  ; and,  for  want  of  any  thing  better  to  do, 

I sauntered  towards  the  M Hell.  There  were  only 

about  ten  or  twelve  persons  in  the  rooms,  and  all  were 
gathered  round  the  hazard  table  — I looked  on  silently, 
seeing  the  knaves  devour  the  fools,  and  younger  brothers 
make  up  in  wit  for  the  deficiencies  of  fortune. 

The  Honorable  Mr.  Blagrave  came  up  to  me  ; “ Do 
you  never  play  ? said  he. 

“ Sometimes,’’  was  my  brief  reply. 

“Lend  me  a hundred  pounds  !”  rejoined  my  kind  ac- 
quaintance. 

“ I was  just  going  to  make  you  the  same  request,”  said  I. 

Blagrave  laughed  heartily.  “Well,”  said  he,  “be  my 
security  to  a Jew,  and  I’ll  be  yours.  My  fellow  lends  me 

money  at  only  forty  per  cent.  My  governor  is  a d d 

stingy  old  fellow,  for  I am  the  most  moderate  son  in  the 
universe.  I neither  hunt  nor  race,  nor  have  I any  one 
favorite  expense,  except  gambling,  and  he  won’t  satisfy 
me  in  that  — now  I call  such  conduct  shameful !-” 

“Unheard-of  barbarity,”  said  I ; “and  you  do  well  to 
ruin  your  property  by  Jews,  before  you  have  it ; you  could 
not  avenge  yourself  better  on  ‘the  governor.’” 

“No,  hang  it,”  said  Blagrave,  “leave  me  alone  for 


352  PELHAM;  OR, 

that!  Well,  I have  got  five  pounds  left,  I shall  go  and 
slap  it  down.’’ 

No  sooner  had  he  left  me  than  I was  accosted  by  Mr. 

a handsome  adventurer,  who  lived  the  devil  knew 

how,  for  the  devil  seemed  to  take  excellent  care  of  him. 

^‘Poor  Blagrave  1 ” said  he,  eyeing  the  countenance  of 
that  ingenious  youth.  “ He  is  a strange  fellow  — he  asked 
me  the  other  day,  if  I ever  read  the  History  of  England, 
and  told  me  there  was  a great  deal  in  it  about  his  ancestor, 
a Roman  General,  in  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
called  Caractacus.  He  told  me  at  the  last  Newmarket, 
that  he  had  made  up  a capital  book,  and  it  turned  out 
that  he  had  hedged  with  such  dexterity,  that  he  must  lose 
one  thousand  pounds,  and  he  might  lose  two.  Well,  well,’^ 

continued , with  a sanctified  expression  ; ‘‘  I would 

sooner  see  those  real  fools  here,  than  the  confounded 
scoundrels,  who  pillage  one  under  a false  appearance. 
Never,  Mr.  Pelham,  trust  to  a man  at  a gaming-house  ; 
the  honestest  look  hides  the  worst  sharper  I Shall  you 
try  your  luck  to-night  ? ” 

‘"No,”  said  I.  '‘I  shall  only  look  on.” 

sauntered  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  next  to  a 

rich  young  man,  of  the  best  temper  and  the  worst  luck 

in  the  world.  After  a few  throws,  said  to  him, 

Lord , do  put  your  money  aside  — you  have  so 

much  on  the  table,  that  it  interferes  with  mine  — and  that 
is  really  so  unpleasant.  Suppose  you  put  some  of  it  in 
your  pocket.” 

Lord took  a handful  of  notes,  and  stuffed  them 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


353 


carelessly  in  his  coat-pocket.  Five  minutes  afterwards  I 

saw insert  his  hand,  empty,  in  his  neighbor’s  pocket* 

and  bring  it  out  — and  half  an  hour  afterwards  he 
handed  over  a fifty  pound  note  to  the  marker,  saying," 

There,  sir,  is  my  debt  to  you.  God  bless  me.  Lord , 

how  you  haee  won  ; I wish  you  would  not  leave  all  you: 
money  about  — do  put  it  in  your  pocket  with  the  rest.” 

Lord  (who  had  perceived  the  trick,  though  he 

was  too  indolent  to  resist  it)  laughed.  “No,  no, ,” 

said  he,  “you  must  let  me  keep  some 

colored,  and  soon  after  rose.  “ D — n my  luck  ! ” 

said  he,  as  he  passed  me.  “ I wonder  I continue  to  play 
— but  there  are  such  sharpers  in  the  room.  Avoid  a 
gaming-house,  Mr.  Pelham,  if  you  wish  to  live.” 

“And  let  live,”  thought  1. 

I was  just  going  away,  when  I heard  a loud  laugh  on 
the  stairs,  and  immediately  afterwards  Thornton  entered, 
joking  with  one  of  the  markers.  He  did  not  see  me  ; 
but  approaching  the  table,  drew  out  the  identical  twenty 
pound  note  I had  given  him,  and  asked  for  change  with 
the  air  of  a millionaire,  I did  not  wait  to  witness  his 
fortune,  good  or  ill ; I cared  too  little  about  it.  I de- 
scended the  stairs,  and  the  servant,  on  opening  the  door 
for  me,  admitted  Sir  John  Tyrrell.  “ What,”  I thought, 
“is  the  habit  still  so  strong  ?”  We  stopped  each  other, 
and  after  a few  words  of  greeting,  I went,  once  more,  up 
stairs  with  him. 

Thornton  was  playing  as  eagerly  with  his  small  quot«a 

as  Lord  0 with  his  ten  thousands.  He  nodded  with 

30^  X 


354 


PELHAM;  OR, 


an  affected  air  of  familiarity  to  Tyrrell,  who  returned  hij* 
salutation  with  the  most  supercilious  hauteur;  and  very 
soon  afterwards  the  baronet  was  utterly  engrossed  by  the 
chances  of  the  game.  I had,  however,  satisfied  my  curi- 
osity, in  ascertaining  that  there  was  no  longer  any  inti- 
macy between  him  and  Thornton,  and  accordingly  \)nco 
more  I took  my  departure. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

The  times  have  been 

That  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die. 

And  there  an  end  — but  now  they  rise  again. — Macbeth, 

It  was  a strange  thing  to  see  a man  like  Qlanville,  with 
costly  tastes,  luxurious  habits,  great  talents  peculiarly 
calculated  for  display,  courted  by  the  highest  members  of 
the  state,  admired  for  his  beauty  and  genius  by  half  the 
women  in  London,  yet  living  in  the  most  ascetic  seclusion 
from  his  kind,  and  indulging  in  the  darkest  and  most 
morbid  despondency.  No  female  was  ever  seen  to  win 
even  his  momentary  glance  of  admiration.  All  the  sense's 
appeared  to  have  lost,  for  him,  their  customary  allure- 
ments. He  lived  among  his  books,  and  seemed  to  make 
his  favorite  companions  amidst  the  past.  At  nearly  all 
hours  of  the  night  he  was  awake  and  occupied,  and  at 
day-break  his  horse  was  always  brought  to  his  door.  He 
rode  alone  for  several  hours,  and  then,  on  his  return,  he 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  355 

was  employed  till  the  hour  he  went  to  the  House,  in  the 
affairs  and  politics  of  the  day.  Ever  since  his  dehut,  he 
had  entered  with  much  constancy  into  the  more  leading 
debates,  and  his  speeches  were  invariably  of  the  same 
commanding  order  which  had  characterized  his  first. 

It  was  singular  that,  in  his  parliamentary  display,  as  in 
his  ordinary  conversation,  there  were  none  of  the  wild 
and  speculative  opinions,  or  the  burning  enthusiasm  of 
romance,  in  which  the  natural  inclination  of  his  mind 
seemed  so  essentially  to  delight.  His  arguments  were  ^ 
always  remarkable  for  the  soundness  of  the  principles  on 
which  they  were  based,  and  the  logical  clearness  with 
which  they  were  expressed.  The  feverish  fervor  ot  his 
temperament  was,  it  is  true,  occasionally  shown  in  a re- 
markable energy  of  delivery,  or  a sudden  and  unexpected 
burst  of  the  more  impetuous  powers  of  oratory  ; but  these 
were  so  evidently  natural  and  spontaneous,  and  so  happily 
adapted  to  be  impressive  of  the  subject,  rather  than  irrel- 
evant from  its  bearings,  that  they  never  displeased  even 
the  oldest  and  coldest  cynics  and  calculators  of  the  House. 

It  is  no  uncommon  contradiction  in  human  nature  (and 
in  Glanville  it  seemed  peculiarly  prominent)  to  find  men 
of  imagination  and  genius  gifted  with  the  strongest  com- 
mon sense,  for  the  admonition  or  benefit  of  others,  even 
while  constantly  neglecting  to  exert  it  for  themselves. 
He  was  soon  marked  out  as  the  most  promising  and  im- 
portant of  all  the  junior  members  of  the  House  ; and  the 
coldness  with  which  he  kept  aloof  from  social  intercourse 


PELHAM;  OR, 


:]1)6 

with  the  party  he  adopted,  only  served  to  increase  their 
I’espect,  though  it  prevented  their  affection. 

Lady  Roseville’s  attachment  to  him  was  scarcely  a 
secret;  the  celebrity  of  her  name  in  the  world  of  ton 
made  her  least  look  or  action  the  constant  subject  of 
present  remark  and  after  conversation  ; and  there  were 
too  many  moments,  even  in  the  watchful  publicity  of 
society,  when  that  charming  but  imprudent  person  forgot 
everything  but  the  romance  of  her  attachment.  Glanville 
^ seemed  not  only  perfectly  untouched  by  it,  but  even  wholly 
unconscious  of  its  existence,  and  preserved  invariably, 
whenever  he  was  forced  into  the  crowd,  the  same  stern, 
cold,  unsympathizing  reserve,  which  made  him,  at  once, 
an  object  of  universal  conversation  and  dislike. 

Three  weeks  after  Glanville’s  first  speech  in  the  House, 
I called  upon  him,  with  a proposal  from  Lord  Dawton. 
After  we  had  discussed  it,  we  spoke  on  more  familiar 
topics,  and,  at  last,  he  mentioned  Thornton.  It  will  be 
observed  that  we  had  never  conversed  respecting  that 
person  ; nor  had  Glanville  once  alluded  to  our  former 
meetings,  or  to  his  disguised  appearance  and  false  a])pel- 
lation  at  Paris.  Whatever  might  be  the  mystery,  it  was 
evidently  of  a painful  nature,  and  it  was  not,  therefore, 
for  me  to  allude  to  it.  This  day  he  spoke  of  Thornton 
with  a tone  of  indifference. 

The  man,”  he  said,  “ I have  known  for  some  time  ; 
he  was  useful  to  me  abroad,  and,  notwithstanding  his 
character,  I rewarded  him  well  for  his  services.  He  has 
since  applied  to  me  several  times  for  money,  which  is 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  857 

spent  at  the  gambling-house  as  soon  as  it  is  obtained. 
I believe  him  to  be  leagued  with  a gang  of  sharpers  of 
the  lowest  description  ; and  I am  really  unwilling  any 
farther  to  supply  the  vicious  necessities  of  himself  and 
his  comrades.  He  is  a mean,  mercenary  rascal,  who  would 
scruple  at  no  enormity,  provided  he  was  paid  for  it ! 

Glanville  paused  for  a few  moments,  and  then  added, 
while  his  cheek  blushed,  and  his  voice  seemed  somewhat 
hesitating  and  embarrassed  — 

“You  remember  Mr.  Tyrrell,  at  Paris?” 

“ Y^es,”  said  I — “he  is,  at  present,  in  London,  and — ” 
Glanville  started  as  if  be  had  been  shot. 

“No,  no,”  he  exclaimed  wildly — “he  died  at  Paris, 
from  want, — from  starvation.” 

“You  are  mistaken,”  said  I;  “he  is  now  Sir  John 
Tyrrell,  and  possessed  of  considerable  property.  1 saw 
him  myself,  three  weeks  ago.” 

Glanville,  laying  his  hand  upon  my  arm,  looked  in  my 
fa’ce  with  a long,  stern,  prying  gaze,  and  his  cheek  grew 
more  ghastly  and  livid  with  every  moment.  At  last  he 
turned,  and  muttered  something  between  his  teeth  ; and 
at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Thornton  was  an- 
nounced. Glanville  sprang  towards  him,  and  seized  him 
by  the  throat ! 

“Dog!”  he  cried,  “you  have  deceived  me  — Tyrrell 
lives  I ” 

“ Hands  off!  ” cried  the  gamester,  with  a savage  *grin 
of  defiance  “hands  off!  or,  by  the  Lord  that  made  me, 
you  shall  have  gripe  for  gripe  I ” 


358 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Ho,  wretch  I said  Glanville,  shaking  him  violently, 
while  his  worn  and  slender,  yet  still  powerful  frame, 
trembled  with  the  excess  of  his  passion  ; **  dost  thou  dare 
to  threaten  me  I ” and  with  these  words  he  flung  Thornton 
against  the  opposite  wall  with  such  force,  that  the  blood 
gushed  out  of  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  The  gambler  rose 
slowly,  and  wiping  the  blocd  from  his  face,  fixed  his 
malignant  and  fiery  eye  upon  his  aggressor,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  collected  hate  and  vengeance,  that  made  my 
very  blood  creep. 

It  is  not  my  day  he  said,  with  a calm,  quiet, 

cold  voice,  and  then,  suddenly  changing  his  manner,  he 
approached  me  with  a sort  of  bow,  and  made  some  remark 
on  the  weather. 

Meanwhile,  Glanville  had  sunk  on  the  sofa  exhausted, 
less  by  his  late  effort  than  the  convulsive  passion  which 
had  produced  it.  He  rose  in  a few  moments,  and  said 
to  Thornton,  “ Pardon  my  violence ; let  this  pay  your 
bruises ; ” and  he  placed  a long  and  apparently  well-filled 
purse  in  Thornton’s  hand.  That  veritable  philosophe 
took  it  with  the  same  air  as  a dog  receives  the  first  caress 
from  the  hand  which  has  just  chastised  him  ; and  feeling 
the  purse  between  his  short,  hard  fingers,  as  if  to  ascertain 
the  soundness  of  its  condition,  quietly  slid  it  into  his 
breeches-pocket,  which  he  then  buttoned  with  care,  and 
pulling  his  waistcoat  down,  as  if  for  further  protection  to 
the  deposit,  he  turned  towards  Glanville,  and  said,  in  hia 
usual  quaint  style  of  vulgarity  — 

Least  said.  Sir  Reginald,  the  soonest  mended.  Gold 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  .^59 

Is  a good  plaister  for  bad  bruises.  Now,  then,  your  will : 
— ask  and  I will  answer,  unless  you  think  Mr.  Pelham  — 
de  trop.^^ 

I was  already  at  the  door,  with  the  intention  of  leaving 
the  room,  when  Glanville  cried,  “ Stay,  Pelham,  I have 
but  one  question  to  ask  Mr.  Thornton.  Is  John  Tyrrell 
still  living  ? 

He  is  ! ” answered  Thornton,  with  a sardonic  smile. 

“And  beyond  all  want?’’  resumed  Glanville. 

“ He  is  ! ” was  the  tautological  reply. 

“ Mr.  Thornton,”  said  Glanville,  with  a calm  voice,  “ I 
have  now  done  with  you  — you  may  leave  the  room  ! ” 

Thornton  bowed  with  an  air  of  ironical  respect,  and 
obeyed  the  command. 

I turned  to  look  at  Glanville.  His  countenance,  always 
better  adapted  to  a stern,  than  a soft  expression,  was 
perfectly  fearful : every  line  in  it  seemed  dug  into  a furrow  ; 
the  brows  were  bent  over  his  large  and  flashing  eyes  with 
a painfnl  intensity  of  anger  and  resolve,  his  teeth  were 
clenched  firmly  as  if  by  a vice,  and  the  thin  upper  lip, 
which  was  drawn  from  them  with  a bitter  curl  of  scorn, 
was  as  white  as  death.  His  right  hand  had  closed  upon 
the  back  of  the  chair,  over  which  his  tall  nervous  frame 
leant,  and  was  grasping  it  with  an  iron  force,  which  it 
could  not  support : it  snapped  beneath  his  hand  like  a 
hazel  stick.  This  accident,  slight  as  it  was,  recalled  him 
to  himself.  He  apologized  with  apparent  self-possession 
fcr  his  disorder ; and,  after  a few  words  of  fervent  and 
affectionate  farewell  on  my  part,  I left  him  to  the  solitude 
which  I knew  he  desired. 


860 


PELHAM;  OR. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

While  I seemed  only  intent  upon  pleasure,  I locked  in  my  heart 
the  consciousness  and  vanity  of  power;  in  the  levity  of  the  lip,  I 
disguised  the  knowledge  and  the  workings  of  the  brain  ; and  I 
looked,  as  with  a gifted  eye,  upon  the  mysteries  of  the  hidden  depths, 
while  I seemed  to  float  an  idler  with  the  herd  only  upon  the  surface 
of  the  stream. — Falkland. 

As  I walked  home,  revolving  the  scene  I had  witnessed, 
the  words  of  Tyrrell  came  into  my  recollection  — viz,  that 
the  cause  of  Glanville’s  dislike  to  him  had  arisen  in  Tyr- 
rell’s greater  success  in  some  youthful  liaison.  In  this 
account  I could  not  see  much  probability.  In  the  first 
place,  the  cause  was  not  sufficient  to  produce  such  an 
effect ; and,  in  the  second,  there  was  but  little  likelihood 
that  the  young  and  rich  Glanville,  possessed  of  the  most 
various  accomplishments,  and  the  most  remarkable  per- 
sonal beauty,  should  be  supplanted  by  a needy  spendthrift 
(as  Tyrrell  at  that  time  was),  of  coarse  manners,  and 
unpolished  mind  ; with  a person  not,  indeed,  unprepos- 
sessing, but  somewhat  touched  by  time,  and  never  more 
comparable  to  Glanville’s  than  that  of  the  Satyr  to  Hy- 
perion. 

While  I was  meditating  over  a mystery  which  excited 
ihy  curiosity  more  powerfully  than  anything,  not  relating 
to  himself,  ought  ever  to  occupy  the  attention  of  a wise 
man,  I was  accosted  by  Yincent : the  difference  in  our 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


361 


politics  had  of  late  much  dissevered  us,  and  when  he  took 
my  arm,  and  drew  me  up  Bond-street,  I was  somewhat 
surprised  at  his  condescension. 

Listen  to  me,”  he  said  ; once  more  I offer  you  a 
settlement  in  our  colony.  There  will  be  great  changes 
soon  : trust  me,  so  radical  a party  as  that  you  have  adopted 
can  never  come  in  : ours,  on  the  contrary,  is  no  less  mod- 
erate than  liberal.  This  is  the  last  time  of  asking  ; for  I 
know  you  will  soon  have  exposed  your  opinions  in  public 
more  openly  than  you  have  yet  done,  and  then  it  will  be 
too  late.  At  present,  I hold,  with  Iludibras,  and  the 
ancients,  that  it  is  — 

‘More  .honorable  far,  sefvare 
Civem  than  slay  an  adversary.’  ” 

‘‘Alas,  Vincent,^  said  I,  “ I am  marked  out  for  slaughter : 
for  you  cannot  convince  me  by  words,  and  so,  I suppose, 
you  must  conquer  me  by  blows.  Adieu,  this  is  my  way 
to  Lord  Dawton’s  : where  are  you  going  ? ” 

“ To  mount  my  horse,  and  join  the  parca  juventus,” 
said  Yincent,  with  a laugh  at  his  own  witticism,  as  we 
shook  hands,  and  parted. 

I grieve  much,  my  beloved  reader,  that  I cannot  unfold 
to  thee  all  the  particulars  of  my  political  intrigue.  I am, 
by  the  very  share  which  fell  to  my  lot,  bound  over  to  the 
strictest  secrecy,  as  to  its  nature,  and  the  characters  of 
the  chief  agents  in  its  execution.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
the  greater  part  of  my  time  was,  though  furtively,  employed 
in  a sort  of  home  diplomacy,  gratifying  alike  to  the  activity 
of  my  tastes,  and  the  vanity  of  my  mind.  I had  filled 
L — 31 


362 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Dawton,  and  his  coadjutors,  with  an  exaggerated  opinion 
of  my  abilities  ; but  I knew  well  how  to  sustain  it.  I 
rose  by  candle-light,  and  consumed,  in  the  intensest  appli- 
cation,  the  hours  which  every  other  individual  of  our  party 
wasted  in  enervating  slumbers,  from  the  hesternal  dissi- 
pation or  debauch.  Was  there  a question  in  political 
economy  debated,  mine  was  the  readiest  and  the  clearest 
reply.  Did  a period  in  our  constitution  become  investiga- 
ted, it  was  I to  whom  the  duty  of  expositor  was  referied. 
From  Madame  d’Anville,  with  whom  (though  lost  as  a 
lover)  I constantly  corresponded  as  a friend,  I obtained 
the  earliest  and  most  accurate  detail  of  the  prospects  and 
manoeuvres  of  the  court  in  which  l^er  life  was  spent,  and 
in  whose  more  secret  offices  her  husband  was  employed. 
I spared  no  means  of  extending  my  knowledge  of  every 
the  minutest  point  which  could  add  to  the  reputation  I 
enjoyed.  I made  myself  acquainted  with  the  individual 
interests  and  exact  circumstances  of  all  whom  it  was  our 
object  to  intimidate  or  to  gain.  It  was  I who  brought 
to  the  House  the  younger  and  idler  members,  whom  no 
more  nominally  powerful  agent  could  allure  from  the  ball- 
room or  the  gaming-house. 

In  short,  while,  by  the  dignity  of  my  birth,  and  the 
independent  hauteur  of  my  bearing,  I preserved  the  rank 
of  an  equal  amongst  the  highest  of  the  set,  I did  not 
scruple  to  take  upon  myself  the  labor  and  activity  of  the 
most  subordinate.  Dawton  declared  me  his  right  hand  ; 
and  though  I knew  myself  rather  his  head  than  his  hand, 
I pretended  to  feel  proud  of  the  appellation. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  363 


Meanwhile,  it  was  my  pleasure  to  wear  in  society  the 
eccentric  costume  of  character  I had  first  adopted,  and  to 
cultivate  the  arts  which  won  from  women  the  smile  that 
cheered  and  encouraged  me  in  my  graver  contest  with  men. 
It  was  only  to  Ellen  Glanville,  that  I laid  aside  an  affec* 
tat  ion,  which,  I knew,  w^as  little  likely  to  attract  a taste 
so  refined  and  unadulterated  as  hers.  I discovered  in 
her  a mind  which,  while  it  charmed  me  by  its  tenderness 
and  freshness,  elevated  me  by  its  loftiness  of  thought. 
She  was,  at  heart,  perhaps,  as  ambitious  as  myself ; but 
while  my  aspirations  were  concealed  by  affectation,  hers 
were  softened  by  her  timidity,  and  purified  by  her  religion. 
There  were  moments  when  I opened  myself  to  her,  and 
caught  a new  spirit  from  her  look  of  sympathy  and  enthu- 
siasm. 

Yes,”  thought  I,  I do  long  for  honors,  but  it  is  that 
I may  ask  her  to  share  and  ennoble  them.”  In  fine,  I 
loved  as  other  men  loved  — and  1 fancied  a perfection  in 
her,  and  vowed  an  emulation  in  myself,  which  it  was  re- 
served for  Time  to  ratify  or  deride. 

Where  did  1 leave  myself?  as  the  Irishman  said  ; — on 
my  road  to  Lord  Dawton’s,  I was  lucky  enough  to  find 
that  personage  at  home  ; he  was  writing  at  a table  covered 
with  pamphlets  and  books  of  reference. 

“ Hush  I Pelham,”  said  his  lordship,  who  is  a quiet, 
grave,  meditative  little  man,  always  ruminating  on  a very 
small  cud  — “ hush  I or  do  oblige  me  by  looking  over  this 
history,  to  find  out  the  date  of  the  Council  of  Pisa.” 


364 


PELHAM. 


^‘That  will  do,  my  younp^  friend,’^  said  his  lordship, 
after  I had  furnished  him  with  the  information  he  required 
— “I  wish  to  Heaven,  I could  finish  this  pamphlet  by  to- 
morrow : it  is  intended  as  an  answer  to . But  I am 

so  perplexed  with  business  that ” 

Perhaps,”  said  I,  “ if  you  will  pardon  ray  interrupting 
you,  I can  throw  your  observations  together  — make  your 
Sibylline  leaves  into  a book.  Your  lordship  will  find  the 
matter,  and  I will  not  spare  the  trouble.” 

Lord  Dawton  was  profuse  in  his  thanks  ; he  explained 
the  subject,  and  left  the  arrangement  wholly  to  me.  He 
could  not  presume  to  dictate.  I promised  him,  if  he  lent 
me  the  necessary  books,  to  finish  the  pamphlet  against  the 
following  evening. 

^‘And  now,”  said  Lord  Dawton  — that  we  have  sett^d 
this  affair  — what  news  from  France  ?”  — 

hj  * * * * * 

* * Hi  ♦ 

wish,”  sighed  Lord  Dawton,  as  we  were  calculating 
our  forces,  “that  we  could  gain  over  Lord  Gulosetoh.” 

“ What,  the  facetious  epicure  ? ” said  I. 

“ The  same,”  answered  Dawton  : “ we  want  him  as  a 
dinner-giver ; and,  besides,  he  has  four  votes  in  the  Lower 
House.” 

“ Well,”  said  I,  “he  is  indolent  and  independent  — it  is 
not  impossible.” 

“ Do  you  know  him  ? ” answered  Dawton. 

“ No : ” said  I. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  365 


Dawton  sighed.  — “And  young  A ? said  the 

statesman,  after  a pause. 

“ Has  an  expensive  mistress,  and  races.  Your  lordship 
might  be  sure  of  him,  were  you  in  power,  and  sure  not  to 
have  him  while  you  are  out  of  it.’^ 

‘^And  B.  rejoined  Dawton. 


* 

♦ 


* 

♦ 

♦ 


31* 


■ ND  07  THE  FIRST  VOLUHl. 


VI  ffi  Mox  33^ -.1 

- « U v7  /ft  jft.«^/«‘T4V  tfiiX  ftiW  ^»V4’ii 


PELHAM 


VOL.  II. 


PELHAM; 


OR, 

ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Mangez-vous  bien,  Monsieur? 

Oui,  et  bois  encore  raieux. — Mons.  de  Porceaugnae. 

My  pamphlet  took  prodigiously.  The  authorship  was 
attributed  to  one  of  the  ablest  members  of  the  Opposition  ; 
and  though  there  were  many  errors  in  style,  and  (I  now 
think  -then  I did  not,  or  I should  not  have  written  them,) 
many  sophisms  in  the  reasoning,  yet  it  carried  the  end 
proposed  by  all  ambition  of  whatever  species  — and  im- 
posed upon  the  taste  of  the  public. 

Some  time  afterwards,  I was  going  down  the  stairs  at 
A1  mack’s,  when  I heard  an  altercation,  high  and  grave,  at 
the  door  of  reception.  To  my  surprise,  I found  Lord 
Ouloseton  and  a very  young  man  in  great  wrath;  the 
latter  had  never  been  to  Almack’s  before,  and  had  forgotten 
his  ticket.  Guloseton,  who  belonged  to  a very  different 
Y (7) 


8 


PELHAM;  0 R , 

set  from  that  of  the  Almackians,  insisted  that  his  word 
was  enough  to  bear  his  juvenile  companion  through.  1'he 
ticket-inspector  was  irate  and  obdurate,  and,  having  seldom 
or  never  seen  Lord  Guloseton  himself,  paid  very  little 
respect  to  his  authority. 

As  I was  wrapping  myself  in  my  cloak,  Guloseton  turned 
to  me,  for  passion  makes  men  open  their  hearts  : too  eager 
for  an  opportunity  of  acquiring  the  epicure’s  acquaintance, 
I offered  to  get  his  friend  admittance  in  an  instant ; the 
offer  was  delightedly  accepted,  and  I soon  procured  a 

small  piece  of  pencilled  paper  from  Lady  which 

effectually  silenced  the  Charon,  and  opened  the  Stygian 
via  to  the  Elysium  beyond. 

Guloseton  overwhelmed  me  with  his  thanks.  I remount- 
ted  the  stairs  with  him  — took  every  opportunity  of  ingra- 
tiating myself  — received  an  invitation  to  dinner  on  the 
following  day,  and  left  Willis’s  transported  at  the  good- 
ness of  my  fortune. 

At  the  hour  of  eight  on  the  ensuing  evening,  I had  just 
made  my  entrance  in  Lord  Guloseton’s  drawing-room.  It 
was  a small  apartment,  furnished  with  great  luxury  and 
some  taste.  A Yenus  of  Titian’s  was  placed  over  the 
chimney-piece,  in  all  the  gorgeous  voluptuousness  of  her 
unveiled  beauty  — the  pouting  lip,  not  silent  though  shut 
— the  eloquent  lid  drooping  over  the  eye,  whose  glances 
you  could  so  easily  imagine  — the  arras  — the  limbs  — the 
attitude,  so  composed,  yet  so  full  of  life  — all  seemed  to 
indicate  that  sleep  was  not  forgetfulness,  and  that  the 
dreams  of  the  goddess  were  not  wholly  inharmonious  with 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


9 


the  waking  realities  in  which  it  was  her  gentle  prerogative 
to  indulge.  On  either  side,  was  a picture  of  the  delicate 
and  golden  hues  of  Claude  ; these  were  the  only  landscapes 
in  the  room  ; the  remaining  pictures  were  more  suitable 
to  the  Yenus  of  the  luxurious  Italian.  Here  was  one  of 
the  beauties  of  Sir  Peter  Lely ; there  was  an  admirable 
copy  of  the  Hero  and  Leander.  On  the  table  lay  the 
Basia  of  Johannes  Secundus,  and  a few  French  works  on 
Gastronomy. 

As  for  the  genius  loci  — you  must  imagine  a middle- 
sized,  middle-aged  man,  with  an  air  rather  of  delicate  than 
florid  health.  But  little  of  the  effects  of  his  good  cheer 
was  apparent  in  the  external  man.  His  cheeks  were 
neither  swollen  nor  inflated  — his  person,  though  not  thin, 
was  of  no  unwieldy  obesity  — the  tip  of  his  nasal  organ 
was,  it  is  true,  of  a more  ruby  tinge  than  the  rest,  and  one 
carbuncle,  of  tender  age  and  gentle  dyes,  diffused  its 
mellow  and  mo.onlight  influence  over  the  physiognomical 
scenery  — his  forehead  was  high  and  bald,  and  the  few 
locks  which  still  rose  above  it,  were  carefully  and  gracefully 
curled  d Vantique,  Beneath  a pair  of  grey  shaggy  brows, 
(which  their  noble  owner  had  a strange  habit  of  raising 
and  depressing,  according  to  the  nature  of  his  remarks,) 
rolled  two  very  small  piercing,  arch,  restless  orbs,  of  a 
tender  green  ; and  the  mouth,  which  was  wide  and  thick- 
lipped,  was  expressive  of  great  sensuality,  and  curved 
upwards  in  a perpetual  smile. 

Ruch  was  Lord  Guloseton.  To  my  surprise  no  other 
guest  but  myself  appeared. 


10 


peJiHAM;  or, 


‘‘A  new  friend,”  said  he,  as  we  descended  into  the 
dining-room,  ‘Ms  like  a new  dish  — one  must  have  him  all 
to  oneself,  thoroughly  to  enjoy  and  rightly  to  understand 
him.” 

*‘A  noble  precept,”  said  I,  with  enthusiasm.  “ Of  all 
vices,  indiscriminate  hospitality  is  the  most  pernicious.  It 
allows  neither  conversation  nor  dinner,  and,  realizing  the 
mytho'’.ogical  fable  of  Tantalas,  gives  us  starvation  in  the 
midst  of  plenty.” 

You  are  right,”  said  Guloseton,  solemnly;  “I  never 
ask  above  six  persons  to  dinner,  and  I never  dine  out ; for 
a bad  dinner,  Mr.  Pelham,  a bad  dinner  is  a most  serious 

— I may  add,  the  most  serious  calamity.” 

Yes,”  I replied,  “ for  it  carries  with  it  no  consolation  : 
a buried  friend  may  be  replaced  — a lost  mistress  renewed 

— a slandered  character  be  recovered  — even  a broken 
constitution  restored  ; but  a dinner,  once  lost,  is  irreme- 
diable ; that  day  is  for  ever  departed  ; an  appetite  once 
thrown  away  can  never,  till  the  cruel  prolixity  of  the 
gastric  agents  is  over,  be  regained.  ^ II  y a tant  de  maU 
tresses,^  (says  the  admirable  Corneille,)  n’y  a qu'un 
diner.’  ” 

“You  speak  like  an  oracle  — like  the  Cookes  Oracle^ 
Mr.  Pelham  : may  I send  you  some  soup  ? — it  is  d Za  Oar- 
melite.  But  what  are  you  about  to  do  with  that  case  ? ” 

“ It  contains,”  said  I,  “ my  spoon,  my  knife,  and  my 
fork.  Nature  afflicted  me  with  a propensity,  which,  through 
these  machines,  I have  endeavored  to  remedy  by  art.  I 
eat  with  too  great  a rapidity.  It  is  a most  unhappy  failing, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


n 


for  one  often  hurries  over  in  one  minute,  what  ought  to 
have  aiOforded  the  fullest  delight  for  the  period  of  jive.  It 
is,  indeed,  a vice  which  deadens  enjoyment,  as  well  as 
abbreviates  it ; it  is  a shameful  waste  of  the  gifts,  and  a 
melancholy  perversion  of  the  bounty,  of  Providence.  My 
conscience  tormented  me ; but  the  habit,  fatally  indulged 
in  early  childhood,  was  not  easy  to  overcome.  At  last  I 
resolved  to  construct  a spoon  of  peculiarly  shallow  dimen- 
sions, a fork  so  small,  that  it  could  only  raise  a certain 
portion  to  my  mouth,  and  a knife  rendered  blunt  and 
jagged,  so  that  it  required  a proper  and  just  time  to  carve 
the  goods  Hhe  gods  provide  me.^  My  lord,  ‘the  lovely 
Thais  sits  beside  me  ^ in  the  form  of  a bottle  of  Madeira. 
Suffer  me  to  take  wine  with  you  ? 

“ With  pleasure,  my  good  friend  ; let  us  drink  to  the 
memory  of  the  Carmelites,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for 
this  inimitable  soup.” 

“ Yes  ! ” I cried.  “ Let  us  for  once  shake  off  the  pre- 
judices of  sectarian  faith,  and  do  justice  to  one  order  of 
those  incomparable  men,  who,  retiring  from  the  cares  of 
an  idle  and  sinful  world,  gave  themselves  with  undivided 
zeal  and  attention  to  the  theory  and  practice  of  the  pro- 
found science  of  gastronomy.  It  is  reserved  for  us  to  pay 
a grateful  tribute  of  memory  to  those  exalted  recluses, 
who,  through  a long  period  of  barbarism  and  darkness, 
preserved,  in  the  solitude  of  their  cloisters,  whatever  of 
Roman  luxury  and  classic  dainties  have  come  down  to  this 
later  age.  We  will  drink  to  the  Carmelites  as  a sect,  but 


L2 


PELHAM:  OR 


will  drink  also  to  the  monks  as  a body.  Had  we  lived 
in  those  days,  we  had  been  monks  ourselves  ! ” 

“It  is  singular,’’ answered  Lord  Guloseton  — (by  tho 
by,  what  think  you  of  this  turbot  ?)  — to  trace  the  history 
of  the  kitchen  ; it  affords  the  greatest  scope  to  the  phi- 
losopher and  the  moralist.  The  ancients  seemed  to  have 
been  more  mental,  more  imaginative,  than  we  are,  in  their 
dishes  ; they  fed  their  bodies  as  well  as  their  minds  upon 
delusion  : for  instance,  they  esteemed  beyond  all  price  the 
tongues  of  nightingales,  because  they  tasted  the  very  music 
of  the  birds  in  the  organs  of  their  utterance.  That  is  what 
I call  the  poetry  of  gastronomy  ! ” 

“Yes,”  said  I,  with  a sigh,  “they  certainly  had,  in 
some  respects,  the  advantage  over  us.  Who  can  pore  over 
the  suppers  of  Apicius  without  the  fondest  regret  ? The 
venerable  Tide  * implies,  that  the  study  has  not  progressed. 
‘ Cookery  (he  says,  in  the  first  part  of  his  work)  possesses 
but  few  innovators.’” 

“It  is  with  the  greatest  diffidence,”  said  Guloseton, 
(his  mouth  full  of  truth  and  turbot,)  “ that  we  may  dare 
to  differ  from  so  great  an  authority.  Indeed,  so  high  is 
my  veneration  for  that  wise  man,  that  if  all  the  evidence 
of  my  sense  and  reason  were  on  one  side,  and  the  dictum 
of  the  great  Tide  upon  the  other,  I should  be  inclined — • 
I thirk,  I should  be  determined  — to  relinquish  the  former, 
and  adopt  the  latter.”  f 

“ Bravo,  Lord  Guloseton,”  cried  I,  warmly.  “ * Qu'^un 

* Qu.  The  venerable  Bede?  — Printer's  Devil. 
f See  the  speech  pf  Mr.  Brougham  in  honor  of  Mr.  Fox. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  13 

Cuisinier  est  un  mortel  divini  ’ Why  should  we  not  be 
proud  of  our  knowledge  in  cookery  ? it  is  the  soul  of 
festivity  at  all  times,  and  to  all  ages.  How  many  mar- 
riages have  been  the  consequence  of  meeting  at  dinner! 
How  much  good  fortune  has  been  the  result  of  a good 
supper  ? At  what  moment  of  our  existence  are  we  happier 
than  at  table  ? There  hatred  and  animosity  are  lulled  to 
sleep,  and  pleasure  alone  reigns.  Here  the  cook,  by  his 
skill  and  attention,  anticipates  our  wishes  in  the  happiest 
selection  of  the  best  dishes  and  decorations.  Here  our 
wants  are  satisfied,  our  minds  and  bodies  invigorated,  and 
ourselves  qualified  for  the  high  delights  of  love,  music, 
poetry,  dancing,  and  other  pleasures ; and  is  he,  whose 
talents  have  produced  these  happy  effects,  to  rank  no 
higher  in  the  scale  of  man  than  a common  servant  ? * 
‘‘‘Yes,’  cries  the  venerable  professor  himself,  in  a 
virtuous  and  prophetic  paroxysm  of  indignant  merit  — 
‘yes,  my  disciples,  if  you  adopt,  and  attend  to  the  rules 
I have  laid  down,  the  self-love  of  mankind  will  consent  at 
last,  that  cookery  shall  rank  in  the  class  of  the  sciences, 
and  its  professors  deserve  the  name  of  artists  ! ’ ” f 

“ My  dear,  dear  Sir,’^  exclaimed  Guloseton,  with  a 
kindred  glow,  “ I discover  in  you  a spirit  similar  to  my 
own.  Let. us  drink  long  life  to  the  venerable  Ude  I 
“ I pledge  you,  with  all  my  soul,’’  said  I,  filling  my  glass 
to  the  brim. 

“What  a pity,”  rejoined  Guloseton,  “that  Ude,  whose 
practical  science  was  so  perfect,  should  ever  have  written, 


* Ude,  verbatim. 

IL  — 2 


t Ibid. 


a 


PELHAM;  OR 


or  suffered  others  to  write,  the  work  published  under  hia 
name  ! True  it  is  that  the  opening  part,  which  you  have 
so  feelingly  recited,  is  composed  with  a grace,  a charm 
beyond  the  reach  of  art ; but  the  instructions  are  vapid  and 
frequently  so  erroneous,  as  to  make  us  suspect  their* 
authenticity  ; but,  after  all,  cooking  is  not  capable  ol 
becoming  a written  science  — it  is  the  philosophy  of 
practice  ! 

^‘Ah  I by  Lucullus,’^  exclaimed  I,  interrupting  host, my 
what  a visionary  hechamelle  I Oh,  the  inimitable  sauce  * 
these  chickens  are  indeed  worthy  of  the  honor  of  being 
dressed.  Never,  my  lord,  as  long  as  you  live,  eat  a chicken 
in  the  country  ; excuse  a pun,  you  will  have  foul  fare. 

‘J’ai  toujours  redoute  la  volaille  perfide, 

Qui  l^rave  les  efforts  d’une  dent  intrepide. 

Souvent,  par  un  ami  dans  ses  champs  entrain^. 

J’ai  recoimu  le  soir  le  coq  infortun^ 

Qui  m’avait  le  matin  a I’aurore  naissante 
Reveille  brusquement  de  sa  voix  glapissante; 

Je  I’avais  admire  dans  le  sein  de  la  cour ; 

Avec  des  yeux  jaloux,  j’avais  vu  son  amour. 

Helas ! le  malheureux,  abjurant  sa  tendresse, 

Exercait  au  souper  sa  fureur  vengresse.’* 


* Ever  I dread  (when  duped  a day  to  spend 
At  his  snug  villa,  by  some  fatal  friend) 

Grim  chanticleer,  whose  breast,  devoid  of  ruth, 
Braves  the  stout  effort  of  the  desperate  tooth. 
Oft  have  I recognized  at  eve,  the  bird 
Whose  morning  notes  my  ear  prophetic  heard, 
Whose  tender  courtship  won  my  pain’d  regard, 
Amidst  the  plumed  seraglio  of  the  yard. 

Tender  no  more  — behold  him  in  your  plate  — 
And  know,  while  eating,  you  avenge  his  fate. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


15 


Pardon  the  prolixity  of  my  quotation  for  the  sake  of  its 
value. 

I do,  I do,’^  answered  Guloseton,  laughing  at  the 
humor  of  the  lines  : till,  suddenly  checking  himself,  he  said, 
“ we  must  be  grave,  Mr.  Pelham  ; it  will  never  do  to  laugh. 
What  would  become  of  our  digestions  ? 

“ True,’^  said  I,  relapsing  into  seriousness  ; “ and  if  you 
will  allow  me  one  more  quotation,  you  will  see  what  my 
author  adds  with  regard  to  any  abrupt  interruption. 

‘ D4fendez  que  personne,  au  milieu  d’un  banquet, 

Ne  vous  vienne  donner  un  avis  indiscret; 

Ecartex  ce  facheux  qui  vers  vous  s’acbemine; 

Rien  ne  doit  deranger  I’honnete  homme  qui  dine.’”* 

‘^Admirable  advice,^’  said  Guloseton,  toying  with  a filet 
mignon  de  poulet.  Do  you  remember  an  example  in 
the  Bailly  of  Sufifren,  who,  being  in  India,  was  waited 
upon  by  a deputation  of  natives  while  he  wm.s  at  dinner  ? 
* Tell  them,’  said  he,  ^that  the  Christian  religion  peremp- 
torily forbids  every  Christian,  while  at  table,  to  occupy 
himself  with  any  earthly  subject,  except  the  function  of 
eating.’  The  deputation  retired  in  the  profoundest  respect 
at  the  exceeding  devotion  of  the  French  general.” 

*‘Well,”  said  I,  after  we  had  chuckled  gravely  and 
quietly,  with  the  care  of  our  digestion  before  us,  for  a few 
minutes  — ‘'well,  however  good  the  invention  was,  the 


* At  meals  no  access  to  the  indiscreet; 

All  are  intruders  on  the  wise  who  eat. 

In  that  blest  hour,  your  bore’s  the  veriest  sinner! 
Nought  must  disturb  a man  of  worth  — at  dinner. 


10 


P E L HA  M ; OR, 


idea  is  not  entirely  new,  for  the  Greeks  esteemed  eating 
and  drinking  plentifully,  a sort  of  offering  to  the  gods; 
and  Aristotle  explains  the  very  word,  ©ovvai,  or  feasts,  by 
an  etymological  exposition,  ‘ that  it  was  thought  a duty 
to  the  gods  to  be  drunk;'*  no  bad  idea  of  our  classica’ 
patterns  of  antiquity.  Polypheme,  too,  in  the  Cyclops 
of  Euripides,  no  doubt  a very  sound  theologian,  says,  his 
stomach  is  his  only  deity ; and  Xenophon  tells  us,  that  as 
the  Athenians  exceeded  all  other  people  in  the  number 
of  their  gods,  so  they  exceeded  them  also  in  the  number 
of  their  feasts.  May  I send  your  lordship  a quail  ? ” 

“ Pelham,  my  boy,’^  said  Guloseton,  whose  eyes  began 
to  roll  and  twinkle  with  a brilliancy  suited  to  the  various 
liquids  which  ministered  to  their  rejoicing  orbs  ; “ I love 
you  for  your  classics.  Polypheme  was  a wise  fellow,  a 
very  wise  fellow,  and  it  was  a terrible  shame  in  Ulysses 
to  put  out  his  eye  ! No  wonder  that  the  ingenious  savage 
made  a deity  of  his  stomach  ; to  what  known  visible  ^k)urce, 
on  this  earth,  was  he  indebted  for  a keener  enjoyment — ■ 
a more  rapturous  and  a more  constant  delight?  No 
wonder  he  honored  it  with  his  gratitude,  and  supplied  it 
with  his  peace-offerings;  — let  us  imitate  so  great  an 
example  : — let  us  make  our  digestive  receptacles  a temple, 
to  which  we  will  consecrate  the  choicest  goods  W’e  possess  ; 
— let  us  conceive  no  pecuniary  sacrifice  too  great,  which 
procures  for  our  altar  an  acceptable  gift;  — let  us  deem 
it  an  impiety  to  hesitate,  if  a sauce  seems  extravagant,  or 
an  ortolan  too  dear  \ and  let  our  last  act  in  this  sublunary 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


17 


existence  be  a solemn  festival  in  honor  of  our  unceasing 
benefactor  I 

Amen  to  your  creed  ! ” said  I : “ edibilatory  Epicurism 
holds  the  key  to  all  morality  : for  do  we  not  see  now  how 
sinful  it  is  to  yield  to  an  obscene  and  exaggerated 
intemperance? — would  it  not  be  to  the  last  degree  un 
grateful  to  the  high  source  of  our  enjoyment,  to  overload 
it  with  a weight  which  would  oppress  it  with  languor  or 
harass  it  with  pain  ; and  finally  to  drench  away  the  effects 
of  our  impiety  with  some  nauseous  potation  which  revolts 
it,  tortures  it,  convulses,  irritates,  enfeebles  it,  through 
every  particle  of  its  system  ? How  wrong  in  us  to  give 
way  to  anger,  jealousy,  revenge,  or  any  evil  passion  ; for 
does  not  all  that  affects  the  mind  operate  also  upon  the 
stomach  ; and  how  can  we  be  so  vicious,  so  obdurate,  as 
to  forget,  for  a momentary  indulgence,  our  debt  to  what 
you  have  so  justly  designated  our  perpetual  benefactor?’’ 

‘‘  Right,”  said  Lord  Guloseton,  ‘‘  a bumper  to  the  Moral- 
ity of  the  Stomach.” 

The  dessert  was  now  on  the  table.  I have  dined 
well,”  said  Guloseton,  stretching  his  legs  with  an  air  of 
supreme  satisfaction  ; “but  — ” and  here  my  philosopher 
sighed  deeply  — “we  cannot  dine  again  till  to-morrow! 
Happy,  happy,  happy  common  people,  who  can  eat  supper  ! 
Would  to  Heaven,  that  I might  have  one  boon  — per- 
petual appetite  — a digestive  Houri,  which  renewed  its 
virginity  every  time  it  was  touched.  Alas  ! for  the  insta- 
bility of  human  enjoyment.  But  now  that  we  have  no 
immediate  hope  to  anticipate,  let  us  cultivate  the  pleasures 
2 ♦ 


18 


PELHAM;  OR, 

of  memory.  What  thought  you  of  the  veau  a la  Dau* 
pliine  f 

Pardon  me  if  I hesitate  at  giving  my  opinion,  till  I 
have  corrected  my  judgment  by  yours. 

“Why,  then,  I own  1 was  somewhat  displeased  — dis- 
appointed as  it  were  — with  that  dish;  the  fact  is,  veal 
ought  to  be  killed  in  its  very  first  infancy  ; they  suffer  it 
to  grow  to  too  great  an  age.  It  becomes  a sort  of  hobby- 
dehoy,  and  possesses  nothing  of  veal,  but  its  insipidity,  or 
of  beef  but  its  toughness.’’  . 

“Yes,”  said  I,  “it  is  only  in  their  veal,  that  the  French 
surpass  us  ; their  other  meats  want  the  ruby  juices  and 

elastic  freshness  of  ours.  Monsieur  L allowed  this 

truth  with  a candor  worthy  of  his  vast  mind.  Mon  Dieu  ! 
what  claret ! — what  a body  ! and,  let  me  add,  what  a soul, 
beneath  it  I Who  would  drink  wine  like  this  ? it  is  only 
made  to  taste.  It  is  the  first  love  — too  pure  for  the  eager- 
ness of  enjoyment;  the  rapture  it  inspires  is  in  a touch,  a 
kiss.  It  is  a pity,  my  lord,  that  we  do  not  serve  perfumes 
at  dessert ; it  is  their  appropriate  place.  In  confectionary 
(delicate  invention  of  the  Sylphs,)  we  imitate  the  forms  of 
the  rose  and  the  jasimine  ; why  not  their  odors  too  ? What 
is  nature  without  its  scents  ? — and  as  long  as  they  are  ab- 
sent from  our  desserts,  it  is  in  vain  that  the  bard  exclaims  — 

• ‘ L’observateur  de  la  belle  Nature 

S’extasie  en  voyant  des  fleurs  en  confiture.*  ** 

“It  is  an  exquisite  idea  of  yours,”  said  Guloseton  — 
“and  the  next  time  you  dine  here  we  will  have  perfumes. 
Dinner  ought  to  be  a reunion  of  all  the  senses  — 

‘ Gladness  to  the  ear,  nerve,  heart,  ana  sense.*  ** 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


19 


There  was  a momentary  pause.  “ My  lord,”  said  I, 

“ what  a lusty  lusciousness  in  this  pear  ! it  is  like  the  style 
of  the  old  English  poets.  What  think  you  of  the  seeming 
good  understanding  between  Mr.  Gaskell  and  the  Whigs  ?” 

I trouble  myself  little  about  it,”  replied  Guloseton, 
helping  himself  to  some  preserves  — “politics  disturb  the 
digestion.” 

“Well,”  thought  I,  “I  must  ascertain  some  point  in 
this  man’s  character  easier  to  handle  than  his  epicurism  • 
all  men  are  vain  : let  us  find  out  the  peculiar  vanity  of 
mine  host.” 

“ The  ultra-Tories,”  said  I,  “seem  to  think  themselves 
exceedingly  secure  ; they  attach  no  importance  to  the 

neutral  members  ; it  was  but  the  other  day  Lord 

told  me  that  he  did  not  care  a straw  for  Mr. , 

notwithstanding  he  possessed  four  votes.  Heard  you  ever 
such  arrogance  ? ” 

“No,  indeed,”  said  Guloseton,  with  a lazy  air  of  indif- 
ference — “ are  you  a favorer  of  the  olive  ?” 

“ No,”  said  I,  “I  love  it  not;  it  hath  an  under  taste 
of  sourness*  and  an  upper  of  oil,  which  do  not  make 
harmony  to  my  palate.  But,  as  I was  saying,  the  Whigs, 
on  the  contrary,  pay  the  utmost  deference  to  their  par- 
tisans ; and  a man  of  fortune,  rank,  and  parliamentary 
influence,  might  have  all  the  power,  without  the  trouble, 
of  a leader.” 

“Yery  likely,”  said  Guloseton,  drowsily. 

“I  must  change  my  battery,”  thought  I;  but  while  [ 
was  meditating  a new  attack,  the  following  note  waa 
brought  me : 


20 


PELHAM;  OR 


^^For  Heaven’s  sake,  Pelham,  come  out  to  me:  I am 
waiting  in  the  street  to  see  you  ; come  directly,  or  it  will 
be  too  late  to  render  me  the  service  I would  ask  of  you. 

“ R.  Glanville.” 

I rose  instantly.  You  must  excuse  me,  Lord  Gulose- 
ton,  I am  called  suddenly  away.’’ 

“ Ha  ! ha  ! ” laughed  the  gourmand  ; “ some  tempting 
viand — post  prandia  Callirhoe!^^ 

My  good  lord,”  said  I,  not  heeding  his  insinuation 
— “I  leave  you  with  the  greatest  regret.” 

‘‘And  I part  from  you  with  the  same;  it  is  a real 
pleasure  to  see  such  a person  at  dinner.” 

“Adieu  I my  host  — ‘ Je  vais  vivre  et  momger  en  sage,  * 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

I do  defy  him,  and  I spit  at  him,  • • 

Call  him  a slanderous  coward  and  a villain  — 

Which  to  maintain  I will  allow  him  odds. — Shakspeare. 

I FOUND  Glanville  walking  before  the  door  with  a rapid 
and  uneven  step. 

“ Thank  Heaven  ! ” he  said,  when  he  saw  me  ; “ I have 
been  twice  to  Mivart’s  to  find  you.  The  second  time,  I 
saw  your  servant,  who  told  me  where  you  were  gone.  1 
knew  you  well  enough  to  be  sure  of  your  kindness.” 

Glanville  broke  off  abruptly ; and  after  a short  pause, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


21 


said,  with  a quick,  low,  hurried  tone  — “ The  office  I wish 
you  to  take  upon  yourself  is  this: — go  immediately  to 
Sir  John  Tyrrell,  with  a challenge  from  me.  Ever  since 
I last  saw  you,  I have  been  hunting  out  that  man,  and  in 
vain.  He  had  then  left  town.  He  returned  this  evening, 
and  quits  it  to-morrow : you  have  no  time  to  lose.’’ 

“ My  dear  Glanville,”  said  I,  “ I have  no  wish  to  learn 
any  secret  you  would  conceal  from  me  ; but  forgive  me  if 
I ask  some  further  instructions  than  those  you  have  afforded 
me.  Upon  what  plea  am  I to  call  out  Sir  John  Tyrrell  ? 
and  what  answer  am  I to  give  to  any  excuses  he  may 
make  ? ” 

I have  anticipated  your  reply,”  said  Glanville,  with 
ill-subdued  impatience  ; “you  have  only  to  give  this  paper : 
it  will  prevent  all  discussion.  Read  it;  I have  left  it 
unsealed  for  that  purpose.” 

I cast  my  eyes  over  the  lines  Glanville  thrust  into  my 
hand  ; they  ran  thus : 

“The  time  has  at  length  come  forme  to  demand  the 
atonement  so  long  delayed.  The  bearer  of  this,  who  is, 
probably,  known  to  you,  will  arrange,  with  any  person  you 
may  appoint,  the  hour  and  place  of  our  meeting.  He  is 
unacquainted  with  the  grounds  of  my  complaint  against 
you,  but  he  is  satisfied  of  my  honor : your  second  will,  1 
presume,  be  the  same  with  respect  to  yours.  It  is  for  me 
only  to  question  the  latter,  and  to  declare  you  solemnly 
to  be  void  alike  of  principle  and  courage,  a villain  and  a 
poltroon. 


“ Reginald  Glanville.” 


22 


PELHAM:  OR 


You  are  my  earliest  friend,”  said  I,  when  I had  read 
this  soothing  epistle  ; and  I will  not  flinch  from  the  place 
you  assign  me  : but  I tell  you  fairly  and  frankly,  that  I 
M'ould  sooner  cut  off  my  right  hand  than  suffer  it  to  give 
this  note  to  Sir  John  Tyrrell.” 

Glanville  made  no  answer ; we  walked  on,  till  suddenly 
stopping,  he  said,  My  carriage  is  at  the  corner  of  the 
street ; you  must  go  instantly  ; Tyrrell  lodges  at  the  Cla- 
rendon ; you  will  find  me  at  home  on  your  return.” 

I pressed  hu  hand,  and  hurried  on  my  mission.  It  was, 
I own,  one  peculiarly  unwelcome  and  displeasing.  In  the 
first  place,  I did  not  like  to  be  made  a party  in  a business 
of  the  nature  of  which  I was  so  profoundly  ignorant. 
Secondly,  if  the  affair  terminated  fatally,  the  world  would 
not  lightly  condemn  me  for  conveying  to  a gentleman  of 
birth  and  fortune,  a letter  so  insulting,  and  for  causes  of 
which  I was  so  ignorant.  Again,  too,  Glanville  was  more 
dear  to  me  than  any  one,  judging  only  of  my  external 
character,  would  suppose  ; and,  constitutionally  indifferent 
as  I am  to  danger  for  myself,  I trembled  like  a woman  at 
the  peril  I was  instrumental  in  bringing  upon  him.  But 
what  weighed  upon  me  far  more  than  any  of  these  reflec- 
tions, was  the  Recollection  of  Ellen.  Should  her  brother  fall 
in  an  engagement  in  which  I was  his  supposed  adviser,  with 
what  success  could  I hope  for  those  feelings  from  her, 
which,  at  present,  constituted  the  tenderest  and  the  bright- 
est of  my  hopes  ? In  the  midst  of  these  disagreeable  ideas, 
t/he  carriage  stopped  at  the  door  of  TyrrelPs  hotel. 

The  waiter  said  Sir  John  was  in  the  coffee-room  ; thither 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


23 


I immediately  marched.  Seated  in  the  box  nearest  the 
fire  sat  Tyrrell,  and  two  men  of  that  old-fashioned  roue 
set,  whose  members  indulged  in  debauchery,  as  if  it  were 
an  attribute  of  manliness,  and  esteemed  it,  as  long  as  it 
were  hearty  and  English,  rather  a virtue  to  boast  of,  than 
a vice  to  disown.  Tyrrell  nodded  to  me  familiarly  as  I 
approached  him  ; and  I saw,  by  the  half-emptied  bottles 
before  him,  and  the  flush  of  his  sallow  countenance,  that 
he  had  not  been  sparing  of  his  libations.  I whispered 
that  I wished  to  speak  to  him  on  a subject  of  great  impor- 
tance ; he  rose  with  much  reluctance,  and,  after  swallowing 
a large  tumbler-full  of  port  wine  to  fortify  him  for  the  task, 
he  led  the  way  to  a small  room,  where  he  seated  himself, 
and  asked  me,  with  his  usual  mixture  of  bluntness  and 
good-breeding,  the  nature  of  my  business.  I made  him 
no  reply  : I contented  myself  with  placing  Glanville’s  billet 
doux  in  his  hand.  The  room  was  dimly  lighted  with  a 
single  candle,  and  the  small  and  capricious  fire,  near  which 
the  gambler  was  seated,  threw  its  upward  light,  by  starts 
and  intervals,  over  the  strong  features  and  deep  lines  of 
his  countenance.  It  would  have  been  a study  worthy  of 
Rembrandt. 

I drew  my  chair  near  him,  and  half  shading  my  eyes 
with  my  hand,  sat  down  in  silence  to  mark  the  effect  the 
letter  would  produce.  Tyrrell  (I  imagine)  was  a man 
originally  of  hardy  nerves,  and  had  been  thrown  much  into 
the  various  situations  of  life  where  the  disguise  of  all 
outward  emotion  is  easily  and  insensibly  taught;  but 
whether  his  frame  had  been  shattered  by  his  excesses,  or 
Z 


24 


PELHAM:  OK 


that  the  insulting  language  of  the  note  touched  him  to  the 
quick,  he  seemed  perfectly  unable  to  govern  his  feelings ; 
the  lines  were  written  hastily,  and  the  light,  as  I said 
before,  was  faint  and  imperfect,  and  he  was  forced  to 
pause  over  each  word  as  he  proceeded,  so  that  “ the 
iron”  had  full  time  to  ‘‘enter  into  his  soul.” 

Passion,  however,  developed  itself  less  impetuously  in 
him  than  in  Glanville  : in  the  latter,  it  was  a rapid  transition 
of  powerful  feelings,  one  angry  wave  dashing  over  another  ; 
it  was  the  passion  of  a strong  and  keenly  susceptible  mind, 
to  which  every  sting  was  a dagger,  and  which  used  the 
force  of  a giant  to  dash  away  the  insect  which  attacked 
it.  In  Tyrrell,  it  was  passion  acting  on  a callous  mind 
but  a broken  frame  — his  hand  trembled  violently  — his 
voice  faltered  — he  could  scarcely  command  the  muscles 
which  enabled  him  to  speak  ; but  there  was  no  fiery  start 
— no  indignant  burst. — no  flashing  forth  of  the  soul: — ^ 
in  him,  it  was  the  body  overcoming  and  paralyzing  the 
mind;  in  Glanville,  it  was  the  mind  governing  and  con- 
vulsing the  body. 

“Mr.  Pelham,”  he  said  at  last,  after  a few  preliminary 
efforts  to  clear  his  voice,  “this  note  requires  some  consi- 
deration. I know  not  at  present  whom  to  appoint  as  my 
second  — will  you  call  upon  me  early  to-morrow  ? ” 

“ I am  sorry,”  said  I,  “ that  my  sole  instructions  were 
to  get  an  immediate  answer  from  you.  Surely  either  of 
the  gentlemen  I saw  with  you  would  officiate  as  your 
second  ? ” 

Tyrrell  made  no  reply  for  some  moments.  He  was 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


25 


endeavoring  to  compose  himself,  and  in  some  measure  ho 
succeeded.  He  raised  his  head  with  a haughty  air  of 
defiance,  and  tearing  the  paper  deliberately,  though  still 
with  uncertain  and  trembling  fingers,  he  stamped  his  foot 
upon  the  atoms. 

Tell  your  principal,”  said  he,  “that  I retort  upon  him 
the  foul  and  false  words  he  has  uttered  against  me  ; that 
I trample  upon  his  aspersions  with  the  same  scorn  I feel 
towards  himself ; and  that  before  this  hour  to-morrow  I 
will  confront  him  to  death  as  through  life.  For  the  rest, 
Mr.  Pelham,  I cannot  name  my  second  till  the  morning; 
leave  me  your  address,  and  you  shall  hear  from  me  before 
you  are  stirring.  Have  you  anything  further  with  me  ? ’ 

“Hothing,”  said  I,  laying  my  card  on  the  table.  “I 
have  fulfilled  the  most  ungrateful  charge  ever  intrusted  to 
me.  I wish  you  good  night.” 

I re-entered  the  carriage,  and  drove  to  Glanville’s.  I 
broke  into  the  room  rather  abruptly  ; Glanville  was  leaning 
on  the  table,  and  gazing  intently  on  a small  miniature.  A 
pistol-case  lay  beside  him  : one  of  the  pistols  in  order  for 
use,  avid  the  other  still  unarranged  ; the  room  was,  as  usual, 
covered  with  books  and  papers,  and  on  the  costly  cushions 
of  the  ottoman  lay  the  large,  black  dog,  which  I remem- 
bered well  as  his  companion  of  yore,  and  which  he  kept 
with  him  constantly,  as  the  only  thing  in  the  world  whose 
society  he  could  at  all  times  bear:  the  animal  lay  curled 
up,  with  its  quick,  black  eye  fixed  watchfully  upon  its 
master,  and  directly  I entered,  it  uttered,  though  without 
moving,  a low,  warning  growl. 

II.— 3 


26 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Glanville  looked  up,  and  in  some  confusion  thrust  the 
picture  into  a drawer  of  the  table,  and  asked  me  my  news. 
I told  him  w’ord  for  word  what  had  passed.  Glanville  set 
his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  hand  firmly  ; and  then,  as  if 
his  anger  was  at  once  appeased,  he  suddenly  changed  the 
subject  and  tone  of  our  conversation.  He  spoke  with 
great  cheerfulness  and  humor  on  the  various  topics  of  the 
day;  touched  upon  politics;  laughed  at  Lord  Guloseton, 
and  seemed  as  indifferent  and  unconscious  of  the  event  of 
the  morrow  as  my  peculiar  constitution  would  have  ren- 
dered myself. 

When  I rose  to  depart,  for  I had  too  great  an  interest 
in  him  to  feel  much  for  the  subjects  he  conversed  on,  he 
said,  “ I shall  write  one  line  to  my  mother,  and  another 
to  my  poor  sister ; you  will  deliver  them  if  I fall,  for  I 
have  sworn  that  one  of  us  shall  not  quit  the  ground  alive. 
I shall  be  all  impatience  to  know  the  hour  you  will  arrange 
with  Tyrrell’s  second.  God  bless  you,  and  farewell  for 
the  present.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


21 


I 


CHAPTER  LX. 

Charge,  Chester,  charge ! — Marmion. 

Though  this  was  one  of  the  first  mercantile  transactions  of 
my  life,  I had  no  doubt  about  acquitting  myself  with  reputation. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

The  next  morning  I was  at  breakfast,  when  a packet 
was  brought  me  from  Tyrrell  ; it  contained  a sealed  letter 
to  Glanville,  and  a brief  note  to  myself.  The  latter  I tran- 
scribe : — 

''  My  dear  Sir, 

‘‘The  enclosed  letter  to  Sir  Keginald  Glanville  will 
explain  my  reasons  for  not  keeping  my  pledge  : suffice  it 
to  state  to  you,  that  they  are  such  as  wholly  to  exonorate 
me,  and  fairly  to  satisfy  Sir  Reginald.  It  will  be  useless 
to  call  upon  me  ; I leave  town  before  you  will  receive  this. 
Respect  for  myself  obliges  me  to  add  that,  although  there 
are  circumstances  to  forbid  my  meeting  Sir  Reginald 
Glanville,  there  are  none  to  prevent  my  demanding  satis- 
faction of  any  one,  whoever  he  may  he^  who  shall  deem 
himself  authorized  to  call  my  motives  into  question. 

“ I have  the  honor,  &c. 

John  Tyrrell.” 

It  was  not  till  I had  thrice  read  this  letter  that  I could 


2S 


PELHAM;  OR, 


credit  its  contents.  From  all  I had  seen  of  TyrrelPs  charac- 
ter, I had  no  reason  to  suspect  him  to  be  less  courageous 
than  the  generality  of  worldly  men.  And  yet,  when  I con- 
sidered the  violent  language  of  Glanviile’s  letter,  and  Tyr- 
relPs  apparent  resolution  the  night  before,  I scarcely  knew 
to  what  more  honorable  motive  than  the  wmnt  of  courage  to 
attribute  his  conduct.  How’ever,  I lost  no  time  in  despatch* 
ing  the  whole  packet  to  Glanville,  with  a few  lines  from 
myself,  saying  I w^ould  call  in  an  hour. 

When  I fulfilled  this  promise,  Glanville’s  servant  told 
me  his  master  had  gone  out  immediately  on  reading  the 
letters  I had  sent,  and  had  merely  left  word  that  he  should 
not  return  home  the  wdiole  day.  That  night  he  was  to 
have  brought  an  important  motion  before  the  House.  A 
message  from  him,  pleading  sudden  and  alarming  illness, 
devolved  this  duty  upon  another  member  of  his  party. 
Lord  DawTon  was  in  despair ; the  motion  was  lost  by  a 
great  majority  ; the  papers,  the  whole  of  that  wmek,  w^ere 
filled  with  the  most  triumphant  abuse  and  ridicule  of  the 
Whigs.  Never  was  that  unhappy  and  persecuted  party 
reduced  to  so  low  an  ebb  : never  did  there  seem  a fainter 
probability  of  their  coming  into  power.  They  appeared 
almost  annihilated  — a mere  nominis  umbra. 

On  the  eighth  day  from  Glanville’s  disappearance,  a 
sudden  event  in  the  cabinet  threw  the  whole  country  into 
confusion  ; the  Tories  trembled  to  the  very  soles  of  their 
easy  slippers  of  sinecure  and  office  ; the  eyes  of  the  public 
were  turned  to  the  Whigs;  and  chance  seemed  to  effect 
in  an  instant  that  change  in  their  favor  which  all  their  toil, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


29 


trouble,  eloquence,  and  art,  bad  been  unable  for  so  many 
years  to  render  even  a remote  probability. 

But  there  was  a strong  though  secret  party  in  the  state 
that,  concealed  under  a general  name,  worked  only  for  a 
private  end,  and  made  a progress  in  number  and  respec- 
tability, not  the  less  sure  for  being  but  little  suspected 
Foremost  among  the  leaders  of  this  party  was  Lord  Yin- 
cent.  Dawton,  who  regarded  them  wdth  fear  and  jealousy, 
considered  the  struggle  rather  between  them  and  himself, 
than  any  longer  between  himself  and  the  Tories;  ani 
strove,  w’hile  it  w^as  yet  time,  to  reinforce  himself  by  a 
body  of  allies,  which,  should  the  contest  really  take  place, 
might  be  certain  of  giving  him  the  superiority.  The 
Marquis  of  Chester  was  among  the  most  powerful  of  the 
neutral  noblemen  : it  wms  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
gain  him  to  the  cause.  He  wms  a sturdy,  sporting,  inde- 
pendent man,  who  lived  chiefly  in  the  country,  and  turned 
his  ambition  rather  towards  promoting  the  excellence  of 
quadrupeds,  than  the  bad  passions  of  men.  To  this  per- 
sonage Lord  Dawton  implored  me  to  be  the  bearer  of  a 
letter,  and  to  aid,  with  all  the  dexterity  in  my  power,  the 
purpose  it  was  intended  to  effect.  It  was  the  most 
consequential  mission  yet  intrusted  to  me,  and  I felt  eager 
to  turn  my  diplomatic  energies  to  so  good  an  account. 
Accordingly,  one  bright  morning  I wrapped  myself  care- 
fully in  my  cloak,  placed  my  invaluable  person  safely  in 
my  carriage,  and  set  off  to  Chester  Park,  in  the  county 
of  Suffolk. 


3^ 


3U 


PELHAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

Hinc  canibus  blandis  rabies  venit. — Virgil,  Georg, 

I SHOLLD  have  mentioned,  that  the  day  after  I sent  to 
Glanville  TjrrelPs  communication,  I received  a short  and 
hurried  note  from  the  former,  saying,  that  he  had  left 
London  in  pursuit  of  Tyrrell,  and  that  he  would  not  rest 
till  he  had  brought  him  to  account.  In  the  hurry  of  the 
public  events  in  which  I had  been  of  late  so  actively  en- 
gaged, ray  mind  had  not  had  leisure  to  dwell  much  upon 
Glanville ; but  when  I was  alone  in  my  carriage,  that 
singular  being,  and  the  mystery  which  attended  him,  forced 
themselves  upon  my  reflection,  in  spite  of  all  the  importance 
of  my  mission. 

I was  leaning  back  in  my  carriage,  at  (I  think)  Ware, 
while  they  were  changing  horses,  when  a voice,  strongly 
associated  with  my  meditations,  struck  upon  my  ear.  I 
looked  out,  and  saw  Thornton  standing  in  the  yard,  attired 
with  all  his  original  smartness  of  boot  and  breeches  : he 
was  employed  in  smoking  a cigar,  sipping  brandy  and 
water,  and  exercising  his  conversational  talents  in  a mixture 
of  slang  and  jockeyism,  addressed  to  two  or  three  men  of  his 
own  rank  of  life,  and  seemingly  his  companions.  His  brisk 
eye  soon  discovered  me,  and  he  swaggered  to  the  carriage 
door  wdth  that  ineffable  assurance  of  manner  which  was  so 
peculiarly  his  own. 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


31 


*‘Ab,  ah,  Mr.  Pelham,’’ said  he,  “going  to  Newmarket, 
I suppose  ? bound  there  mj^self  — like  to  be  found  among 
my  betters.  Ha,  ha  — excuse  a pun:  what  odds  on  the 
favorite  ? What,  you  won’t  bet,  Mr.  Pelham  ? close  and 
sly  at  present ; well,  the  silent  sow  sups  up  all  the  broth 
• — eh  ! — ” 

“I’m  not  going  to  Newmarket,”  I replied  : “ I never 
attend  races.” 

“Indeed!”  answered  Thornton.  “Well,  if  I was  as 
rich  as  you,  I would  soon  make  or  spend  a fortune  on  the 
course.  Seen  Sir  John  Tyrrell  ? No  ! He  is  to  be  there. 
Nothing  can  cure  him  of  gambling  — what’s  bred  in  the 
bone,  &c.  Good  day,  Mr.  Pelham  — won’t  keep  you  any 
longer  — sharp  shower  coming  on.  'The  devil  will  soon 
be  basting  his  wife  with  a leg  of  mutton,’  as  the  proverb 
says  : — servant,  Mr.  Pelham.  ” 

And  at  these  words  my  post-boy  started,  and  released 
me  from  my  bete  noire.  I spare  my  reader  an  account  of 
my  miscellaneous  reflections  on  Thornton,  Dawton,  Vin- 
cent, politics,  Glanville,  and  Ellen,  and  will  land  him, 
without  further  delay,  at  Chester  Park. 

I was  ushered  through  a large  oak  hall  of  the  reign  of 
James  the  First,  into  a room  strongly  resembling  the 
piincipal  apartment  of  a club  5 two  or  three  round  tables 
were  covered  with  newspapers,  journals,  racing  calendars, 
Ac.  An  enormous  fire-place  was  crowded  with  men  of 
all  ages,  I had  almost  said,  of  all  ranks  5 but,  however 
various  they  might  appear  in  their  mien  and  attire,  they 
were  wholly  of  the  patrician  order.  One  thing,  however, 


PELHAM;  OR, 


.^2 

in  this  room,  belied  its  likeness  to  the  apartment  of  a club, 
viz.,  a number  of  dogs,  that  lay  in  scattered  groups  upon 
the  floor.  Before  the  windows  were  several  horses,  in 
body-cloths,  led  to  exercise  upon  a plain  in  the  park, 
levelled  as  smooth  as  a bowling-green  at  Putney  ; and, 
stationed  at  an  oriel  window,  in  earnest  attention  to  the 
scene  without,  were  two  men  ; the  tallest  of  these  was 
Lord  Chester.  There  was  a stiffness  and  inelegance  in 
his  address  which  prepossessed  me  strongly  against  him. 

Les  maiiieres  que  Von  neglige  comme  de  petites  choses^ 
S072f  souvent  ce  qui  fait  que  les  how.mes  decident  de  vous 
en  Men  ou  en  malV^  ^ 

I had  long  since,  when  I was  at  the  University,  been 
introduced  to  Lord  Chester ; but  I had  quite  forgotten 
his  person,  and  he  the  very  circumstance.  I said,  in  a low 
tone,  that  I was  the  bearer  of  a letter  of  some  importance 
from  our  mutual  friend.  Lord  Dawton,  and  that  I should 
request  the  honor  of  a private  interview  at  Lord  Chester’s 
first  convenience. 

His  lordship  bowed,  with  an  odd  mixture  of  the  civility 
of  a jockey  and  the  hauteur  of  a head  groom  of  the  stud, 
and  led  the  way  to  a small  apartment,  which  I afterwards 
discovered  he  called  his  own.  (I  never  could  make  out, 
by  the  way,  why,  in  England,  the  very  worst  room  in 
the  house  is  always  appropriated  to  the  master  of  it,  and 
dignified  by  the  appellation  of  the  gentleman’s  own.”) 

* “ The  manners  whicli  one  neglects  as  trifles,  are  often  preciseb 

that  by  which  men  decide  on  you  favorably  or  the  reverse.* ** 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


33 


r gave  the  Newmarket  grandee  the  letter  intended  for 
him,  and  quietly  seating  myself,  awaited  the  result. 

He  read  it  through  slowly  and  silently,  and  then,  talking 
out  a huge  pocket-book,  full  of  racing  bets,  horses’  ages, 
jockey  opinions,  and  such  like  memoranda,  he  placed  it 
with  much  solemnity  among  this  dignified  company,  and 
said,  with  a cold,  but  would-be  courteous  air,  My  friend, 
Lord  Dawton,  says  you  are  entirely  in  his  confidence, 
Mr.  Pelham.  I hope  you  will  honor  me  with  your  com- 
pany at  Chester  Park  for  two  or  three  days,  during  which 
time  I shall  have  leisure  to  reply  to  Lord  Dawton’s  letter. 
Will  you  take  some  refreshment  ? ” 

I answered  the  first  sentence  in  the  affirmative,  and  the 
latter  in  the  negative  ; and  Lord  Chester,  thinking  it 
perfectly  unnecessary  to  trouble  himself  with  any  further 
questions  or  remarks,  which  the  whole  jockey  club  might 
not  hear,  took  me  back  into  the  room  we  had  quitted, 
and  left  me  to  find,  or  make,  whatever  acquaintance  I 
could.  Pampered  and  spoiled  §.s  I was  in  the  most  difficult 
circles  of  London,  I was  beyond  measure  indignant  at  the 
cavalier  demeanor  of  this  rustic  thane,  who,  despite  his 
marquisate  and  his  acres,  was  not  less  below  me  in  the 
aristocracy  of  ancient  birth,  than  in  that  of  cultivated 
intellect.  I looked  round  the  room,  and  did  not  recognize 
a being  of  my  acquaintance  : I seemed  literally  thrown 
into  a new  world  : the  very  language  in  which  the  con- 
versation was  held,  sounded  strange  to  my  ear.  I had 
always  transgressed  my  general  rule  of  knowing  all  men  in 
all  grades,  in  the  single  respect  of  sporting  characters : 


34 


PELHAM;  OR, 


they  were  a species  of  bipeds  tliat  I would  never  recognize 
as  belonging  to  the  human  race.  Alas  ! I now  found  the 
bitter  effects  of  not  following  my  usual  maxims.  It  is  a 
dangerous  thing  to  encourage  too  great  a disdain  of  one’s 
inferiors  : pride  must  have  a fall. 

After  I had  been  a whole  quarter  of  an  hour  in  this 
strange  place,  my  better  genius  came  to  my  aid.  Since  I 
found  no  society  among  the  two-legged  brutes,  I turned 
to  the  quadrupeds.  At  one  corner  of  the  room  lay  a black 
terrier  of  the  true  English  breed  ; at  another  was  a short, 
sturdy,  wiry  one,  of  the  Scotch.  I soon  formed  a friend- 
ship with  each  of  these  canine  Feleij  (little  bodies  with 
great  souls),  and  then  by  degrees  alluring  them  from  their 
retreat  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  I fairly  endeavored  to 
set  them  by  the  ears.  Thanks  to  the  national  antipathy, 
I succeeded  to  my  heart’s  content.  The  contest  soon 
aroused  the  other  individuals  of  the  genus  — up  they 
started  from  their  repose,  like  Roderic  Dhu’s  merry  men, 
and  incontinently  flocked  to  the  scene  of  battle.  The 
example  became  contagious.  In  a very  few  moments,  the 
whole  room  was  a scene  of  uproarious  confusion  ; the 
beasts  yelled,  and  bit,  and  struggled  with  the  most  delect- 
able ferocity.  To  add  to  the  effect,  the  various  owners 
of  the  dogs  crowded  round  — some  to  stimulate,  others 
to  appease,  the  fury  of  the  combatants.  At  length,  the 
conflict  was  assuaged.  By  dint  of  blows,  and  kicks,  and 
remonstrances  from  their  dignified  proprietors,  the  dogs 
slowly  withdrew,  one  with  the  loss  of  half  an  ear,  another 
with  a mouth  increased  by  one-half  of  its  natural  dimen- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


35 


gions,  and,  in  short,  every  one  of  the  combatants  with  some 
token  of  the  severity  of  the  conflict.  I did  not  wait  for 
the  thunder-storm  I foresaw  in  the  inquiry  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  war:  I rose  with  a nonchalant  yawn  of 
marched  out  of  the  apartment,  called  a servant,  demanded 
my  own  room,  repaired  to  it,  and  immersed  the  internal 
faculties  of  my  head  in  Mignet’s  History  of  the  Revolution, 
while  Bedos  busied  himself  in  its  outward  embellishment. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

Noster  ludos,  spectaverat  un^, 

Luserat  in  campo,  Fortunge  filius,  omnes. — Hor. 

I DID  not  leave  my  room  till  the  first  dinner-bell  had 
ceased  a sufficient  time  to  allow  me  the  pleasing  hope  that 
I should  have  but  a few  moments  to  wait  in  the  drawing- 
room, previously  to  the  grand  epoch  and  ceremony  of  an 
European  day.  The  manner  most  natural  to  me,  is  one 
rather  open  and  easy ; but  I pique  myself  peculiarly  upon 
a certain  (though  occasional)  air  which  keeps  impertinence 
aloof.  This  day  I assumed  a double  quantum  of  dignity, 
in  entering  a room  which  I well  knew  would  not  be  filled 
with  my  admirers ; there  were  a few  women  around  Lady 
Chester,  and,  as  I always  feel  reassured  by  a sight  of  the 
dear  sex,  I walked  towards  them. 

Judge  of  my  delight,  when  I discovered,  amongst  the 
group.  Lady  Harriet  Garrett.  It  is  true  that  I had  no 


30 


PELHAM;  OR, 


particular  predilection  for  that  lady  ; but  the  sight  of  a 
negress  I had  seen  before,  I should  have  hailed  with  rap- 
ture in  so  desolate  and  inhospitable  a place.  If  my  plea- 
sure at  seeing  Lady  Harriet  was  great,  her’s  seemed  equally 
so  at  receiving  my  salutation.  She  asked  me  if  I knew 
Lady  Chester  — and  on  my  negative  reply,  immediately 
introduced  me  to  that  personage.  I now  found  myself 
quite  at  home  ; my  spirits  rose,  and  I exerted  every  nerve 
to  be  as  charming  as  possible.  — In  youth,  to  endeavor  is 
to  succeed. 

I gave  a most  animated  account  of  the  canine  battle, 
interspersed  with  various  sarcasms  on  the  owners  of  the 
combatants,  which  were  by  no  means  ill-received  either 
by  the  marchioness  or  her  companions  ; and,  in  fact,  when 
the  dinner  was  announced,  they  all  rose  in  a mirth  suffi- 
ciently unrestrained  to  be  anything  but  partician  : for  my 
part,  I offered  my  arm  to  Lady  Harriet,  and  paid  her  as 
many  compliments  on  crossing  the  suite  that  led  to  the 
dining-room,  as  would  have  turned  a much  wiser  head  than 
her  ladyship’s. 

The  dinner  went  off  agreeably  enough,  as  long  as  the 
women  stayed,  but  the  moment  they  quitted  the  room,  I 
experienced  exactly  the  same  feeling  known  unto  a mother’s 
darling,  left  for  the  first  time  at  that  strange,  cold,  com- 
fortless place  — ycleped  a school. 

I was  not,  however,  in  a mood  to  suffer  my  flowers  of 
oratory  to  blush  unseen.  Besides,  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  I should  make  a better  impression  upon  my  host. 
I leant,  therefore,  across  the  table,  and  listened  eagerly 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  ol 

to  the  various  conversations  afloat : at  last  I perceived  on 
the  opposite  side  Sir  Lionel  Garrett,  a personage  whom 
I had  not  before  even  inquired  after,  or  thought  of.  He 
was  busily  and  noisily  employed  in  discussing  the  game- 
law^s.  Thank  Heaven,  thought  I,  I shall  be  on  firm  ground 
there.  The  general  interest  of  the  subject,  and  the  loud- 
ness with  which  it  was  debated,  soon  drew^  all  the  scattered 
conversation  into  one  focus. 

What ! said  Sir  Lionel,  in  a high  voice,  to  a modest, 
shrinking  youth,  probably  from  Cambridge,  who  had  sup- 
ported the  liberal  side  of  the  question  — “ what ! are  our 
interests  to  be  never  consulted  ? Are  we  to  have  our  only 
amusement  taken  away  from  us  ? What  do  you  imagine 
brings  country  gentlemen  to  their  seats  ? Do  you  not 
know,  sir,  the  vast  importance  our  residence  at  our  country 
houses  is  to  the  nation  ? Destroy  the  game-laws,  and  you 
destroy  our  very  existence  as  a people  ! 

“Kow,^^  thought  I,  “it  is  my  time.^^  “ Sir  Lionel,’^ 
said  I,  speaking  almost  from  one  end  of  the  table  to  the 
other,  “ I perfectly  agree  with  your  sentiments ; I am 
entirely  of  opinion,  first,  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  safety  of  the  nation  that  game  should  be  preserved  ; 
secondly,  that  if  you  take  away  game  you  take  country 
gentlemen  : no  two  propositions  can  be  clearer  than  these  ; 
but  I do  differ  from  you  with  respect  to  the  intended 
alterations.  Let  us  put  wholly  out  the  question,  the  inte- 
rests of  the  poor  people,  or  of  society  at  large  : those  are 
minor  matters,  not  worthy  of  a moment’s  consideration  ; 
let  us  only  see  how  far  our  interests  as  sportsmen  will  be 
IL  — 4 


88 


PELHAM;  OR 


affected.  I' think  by  a very  few  words  I can  clearly  prove 
to  you,  that  the  proposed  alterations  will  make  us  much 
better  off  than  we  are  at  present.” 

I then  entered  shortly,  yet  fully  enough,  into  the  nature 
of  the  laws  as  they  now  stood,  and  as  they  were  intended 
to  be  changed.  I first  spoke  of  the  two  great  disadvan- 
tages of  the  present  system  to  country  gentlemen  ; viz.  in 
the  number  of  poachers,  and  the  expense  of  preserving. 
Observing  that  I was  generally  and  attentively  listened 
to,  I dwelt  upon  these  two  points  with  much  pathetic 
energy  ; and  having  paused  till  I had  got  Sir  Lionel  and 
one  or  two  of  his  supporters  to  confess  that  it  would  be 
highly  desirable  that  these  defects  should,  if  possible^  be 
remedied,  I proceeded  to  show  how,  and  in  what  manner 
it  was  possible.  I argued,  that  to  effect  this  possibility 
was  the  exact  object  of  the  alterations  suggested  ; I anti- 
cipated the  objections  ; I answered  them  in  the  form  of 
propositions  as  clearly  and  concisely  stated  as  possible  ; 
and  as  I spoke  with  great  civility  and  conciliation,  and 
put  aside  every  appearance  of  care  for  any  human  being 
in  the  world  who  was  not  possessed  of  a qualification,  I 
perceived  at  the  conclusion  of  my  harangue  that  I had 
made  a very  favorable  impression.  That  evening  com- 
pleted my  triumph  : for  Lady  Chester  and  Lady  Harriet 
made  so  good  a story  of  my  adventure  with  the  dogs,  that 
the  matter  passed  off  as  a famous  joke,  and  I was  soon 
considered  by  the  whole  knot  as  a devilish  amusing,  good- 
natured,  sensible  fellow.  So  true  is  it  that  there  is  no 
situation  which  a little  tact  cannot  turn  to  our  own 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  3S 

account : manage  yourself  and  you  may  manage  al) 
the  world. 

As  for  Lord  Chester,  I soon  won  his  heart  by  a few 
feats  of  horsemanship,  and  a few  extempore  inventions 
respecting  the  sagacity  of  dogs.  Three  days  after  my 
arrival,  we  became  inseparable  ; and  I made  such  good 
use  of  my  time,  that  in  two  more,  he  spoke  to  me  of  his 
friendship  for  Dawton,  and  his  wish  for  a dukedom.  These 
motives  it  was  easy  enough  to  unite,  and  at  last  he  pro- 
mised me  that  his  answer  to  my  principal  should  be  as 
acquiescent  as  I could  desire  ; the  morning  after  this 
promise  commenced  the  great  day  at  Newmarket. 

Our  whole  party  were  of  course  bound  to  the  race- 
ground,  and  with  great  reluctance  I was  pressed  into  the 
service.  We  were  not  many  miles  distant  from  the  course, 
and  Lord  Chester  mounted  me  on  one  of  his  horses.  Our 
shortest  way  lay  through  rather  an  intricate  series  of  cross 
roads : and  as  1 was  very  little  interested  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  my  companions,  I paid  more  attention  to  the 
scenery  we  passed,  than  is  my  cusfomary  wont ; for  I study 
Nature  rather  in  men  than  fields,  and  find  no  landscape 
afford  such  variety  to  the  eye,  and  such  subject  to  the 
contemplation,  as  the  inequalities  of  the  human  heart. 

But  there  were  to  be  fearful  circumstances' hereafter,  to 
stamp  forcibly  upon  my  remembrance  some  traces  of  the 
scenery  which  now  courted  and  arrested  my  view.  The 
chief  characteristics  of  the  country  were  broad,  dreary 
plains,  diversified  at  times  by  dark  plantations  of  fir  and 

larch  j the  road  was  rough  and  stony,  and  here  and  there 

2a 


40 


PELHAM;  OR, 


a melancholy  rivulet,  swelled  by  the  first  rains  of  spring, 
crossed  our  path,  and  lost  itself  in  the  rank  weeds  of  some 
inhospitable  marsh. 

About  six  miles  from  Chester  Park,  to  the  left  of  the 
road,  stood  an  old  house  with  a new  face  ; the  browm, 
time-honored  bricks  which  composed  the  fabric,  were 
strongly  contrasted  by  large  Yenetian  wdndows  newly 
inserted  in  frames  of  the  most  ostentatious  white.  A 
smart,  green  veranda,  scarcely  finished,  ran  along  the  low 
portico,  and  formed  the  termination  to  two  thin  rows  of 
meagre  and  dwarfish  sycamores,  which  did  duty  for  an 
avenue,  and  were  bounded  on  the  roadside  by  a spruce 
white  gate,  and  a sprucer  lodge,  so  moderate  in  its  dimen- 
sions, that  it  would  scarcely  have  boiled  a turnip  ! — if  a 
rat  had  got  into  it,  he  might  have  run  away  with  it ! 
The  ground  was  dug  in  various  places,  as  if  for  the  purpose 
of  further  impr'ovements,  and  here  and  there  a sickly  little 
tree  was  carefully  hurdled  round,  and  seemed  pining  its 
puny  heart  out  at  the  confinement. 

In  spite  of  all  these  well-judged  and  well-thriving  graces 
of  art,  there  was  such  a comfortless  and  desolate  appear- 
ance about  the  place,  that  it  quite  froze  one  to  look  at  it ; 
to  be  sure,  a damp  marsh  on  one  side,  and  the  skeleton 
rafters  and  beams  of  an  old  stable  on  the  other,  backed 
by  a few  dull  and  sulky-looking  fir-trees,  might  in  some 
measure  create,  or  at  least  considerably  add  to,  the  inde- 
scribable cheerlessness  of  the  tout  ensemble.  While  I was 
curiously  surveying  the  various  parts  of  this  northern  “ De- 
liceSj^^  and  marvelling  at  the  choice  of  two  crows  who 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


4j 


were  slowly  walking  over  the  unwholesome  ground,  instead 
of  making  all  possible  use  of  the  black  wings  with  which 
Providence  had  gifted  them,  I perceived  two  men  on 
horseback  wind  round  from  the  back  part  of  the  building, 
and  proceed  in  a brisk  trot  down  the  avenue.  We  had 
not  advanced  many  paces  before  they  overtook  us ; the 
foremost  of  them  turned  round  as  he  passed  me,  and 
pulling  up  his  horse  abruptly,  discovered  to  my  dismayed 
view  the  features  of  Mr.  Thornton.  Nothing  abashed  by 
the  slightness  of  my  bow,  or  the  grave  stares  of  my  lordly 
companions,  who  never  forgot  the  dignity  of  their  birth, 
in  spite  of  the  vulgarity  of  their  tastes,  Thornton  instantly 
and  familiarly  accosted  me. 

Told  you  so,  Mr.  Pelham  — silent  sow,  &c.  — Sure  I 
should  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  though  you  kept 
it  so  snug.  Well,  will  you  bet  novo?  No  ! — Ah,  you’re 
a sly  one.  Staying  here  at  that  nice-looking  house  — 
belongs  to  Dawson,  an  old  friend  of  mine  — shall  be  happy 
to  introduce  you  ! ” 

Sir,”  said  I,  abruptly,  ^‘you  are  too  good.  Permit 
me  to  request  that  you  will  rejoin  your  friend  Mr.  Dawson.” 

‘‘Oh,”  said  the  imperturbable  Thornton,  “it  does  not 
signify ; he  won’t  be  affronted  at  my  lagging  a little. 
However,”  (and  here  he  caught  my  eye,  which  was  assum- 
ing a sternness  that  perhaps  little  pleased  him,)  “ however, 
as  it  gets  late,  and  my  mare  is  none  of  the  best.  I’ll  wish 
yoi  good  morning.”  With  these  words  Thornton  put  spurs 
to  his  horse  and  trotted  off. 

4 * 


PELHAM;  OR, 


'12  ' 


^^Who  the  devil  have  you  got  there,  Pelham?’^  said 
Lord  Chester. 

“A  person,’^  said  I,  “ who  picked  me  up  at  Paris,  and 
insists  on  the  right  of  treasure  trove  ^ to  claim  me  in 
England.  But  will  you  let  me  ask,  in  my  turn,  whom  that 
cheerful  mansion  we  have  just  left,  belongs  to  ? ’’ 

To  a Mr.  Dawson,  whose  father  was  a gentleman 
farmer  who  bred  horses,  a very  respectable  person, — for 
I made  one  or  two  excellent  bargains  with  him.  The  son 
was  always  on  the  turf  and  contracted  the  worst  of  its 
habits.  He  bears  but  a very  indifferent  character,  and 
will  probably  become  a complete  blackleg.  lie  married, 
a short  time  since,  a woman  of  some  fortune,  and  I sup- 
pose it  is  her  taste  which  has  so  altered  and  modernized 
his  house.  Come,  gentlemen,  we  are  on  even  ground  — 
shall  we  trot  ? ” 

We  proceeded  but  a few  yards  before  we  were  again 
stopped  by  a precipitous  ascent,  and  as  Lord  Chester  was 
then  earnestly  engaged  in  praising  his  horse  to  one  of  the 
cavalcade,  I had  time  to  remark  the  spot.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  we  were  about  slowly  to  ascend,  was  a broad, 
unenclosed  patch  of  waste  land  ; a heron,  flapping  its 
enormous  wings  as  it  rose,  directed  my  attention  to  a pool 
overgrown  with  rushes,  and  half-sheltered  on  one  side  by 
a decayed  tree,  which,  if  one  might  judge  from  the  breadth 
and  hollowness  of  its  trunk,  had  been  a refuge  to  the  wild 
bird,  and  a shelter  to  the  wild  cattle,  at  a time  when  such 
were  the  only  intruders  upon  its  hospitality  ; and  when 
the  country,  for  miles  and  leagues  round,  was  honored  by 


adventures  of  a gentleman. 


43 


as  little  of  man’s  care  and  cultivation  as  was  at  present 
the  rank  waste  which  still  nourished  the  gnarled  and 
venerable  roots  of  that  single  tree.  There  was  something 
remarkably  singular  and  grotesque  in  the  shape  and 
sinuosity  of  its  naked  and  spectral  branches  ; two  of  ex- 
ceeding length  stretched  themselves  forth,  in  the  very 
semblance  of  arms  held  out  in  the  attitude  of  supplication  : 
and  the  bend  of  the  trunk  over  the  desolate  pond,  the 
form  of  the  hoary  and  blasted  summit,  and  the  hollow 
trunk  half  riven  asunder  in  the  shape  of  limbs,  seemed  to 
favor  the  gigantic  deception.  You  might  have  imagined 
it  an  antediluvian  transformation,  or  a daughter  of  the 
Ti  tan  race,  preserving,  in  her  metamorphosis,  her  attitude 
of  entreaty  to  the  merciless  Olympian. 

This  was  the  only  tree  visible  ; for  a Jurn  of  the  road, 
and  the  unevenness  of  the  ground,  completely  veiled  the 
house  we  had  passed,  and  the  few  low  firs  and  sycamores 
which  made  its  only  plantations.  The  sullen  pool  — its 
ghost-like  guardian  — the  dreary  heath  around,  the  rude 
features  of  the  country  beyond,  and  the  apparent  absence 
of  all  human  habitation,  conspired  to  make  a scene  of  the 
most  dispirting  and  striking  desolation.  I know  not 
how  to  account  for  it,  but,  as  I gazed  around  in  silence, 
the  whole  place  appeared  to  grow  over  my  mind,  as  one 
which  I had  seen,  though  dimly  and  drearily,  as  in  a 
dream,  before  ; and  a nameless  and  unaccountable  presen- 
timent of  fear  and  evil  sank  like  ice  into  my  heart.  We 
;iscended  the  hill,  and,  the  rest  of  the  road  being  of  a kind 


i4 


PELHAM;  OR, 


bettter  adapted  to  expedition,  we  mended  our  pace  and 
soon  arrived  at  the  goal  of  our  journey. 

The  raee-ground  had  its  customary  complement  of 
knaves  and  fools  — the  dupers  and  the  duped.  Poor  Lady 
Chester,  who  had  proceeded  to  the  ground  by  the  high 
road  (for  the  way  we  had  chosen  was  inaccessible  to  those 
who  ride  in  chariots,  and  whose  charioteers  are  set  up  in 
high  places,)  was  driving  to  and  fro,  the  very  picture  of 
cold  and  discomfort ; and  the  few  solitary  carriages  which 
honored  the  course,  looked  as  miserable  as  if  they  were 
witnessing  the  funeral  of  their  owners’  persons,  rather 
than  the  peril  of  their  characters  and  purses. 

As  we  rode  along  the  betting-post.  Sir  John  Tyrrell 
passed  us  : Lord  Chester  accosted  him  familiarly,  and  the 
baronet  joined  jis.  He  had  been  a votary  of  the  turf 
in  his  younger  days,  and  he  still  preserved  all  his  ancient 
predilection  in  its  favor. 

It  seemed  that  Chester  had  not  met  him  for  many  years, 
and  after  a short  and  characteristic  conversation  of  God 
bless  me,  how  long  since  I saw  you  ! — good  horse  you’re 
on; — look  thin; — admirable  condition; — what  have 
you  been  doing?  — grand  action  ; — a’n’t  we  behindhand  ? 
— famous  fore-hand  ; — recollect  old  Queensbury  ? — hot 
in  the  mouth  ; — gone  to  the  devil ; — what  are  the  odds  ? 
Lord  Chester  asked  Tyrrell  to  go  home  with  us.  The 
invitation  was  readily  accepted. 

“With  impotence  of  will 
We  wheel,  though  ghastly  shadows  interpose 
Round  us,  and  round  each  other.”* 


*Shellej. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


45 


"Now,  then,  arose  the  noise,  the  clatter,  the  swearing, 
the  lying,  the  perjury,  the  cheating,  the  crowd,  the  bustle, 
the  hurry,  the  rush,  the  heat,  the  ardor,  the  impatience, 
the  hope,  the  terror,  the  rapture,  the  agony  of  the  race. 
The  instant  the  first  heat  was  over,  one  asked  me  one 
thing,  one  bellowed  another ; I fled  to  Lord  Chester  : he 
did  not  heed  me.  I took  refuge  with  the  marchioness ; 
she  was  as  sullen  as  an  east  wind  could  make  her.  Lady 
Harriet  would  talk  of  nothing  but  the  horses  : Sir  Lionel 
would  not  talk  at  all.  I was  in  the  lowest  pit  of  despond- 
ency, and  the  devils  that  kept  me  there  were  as  blue  as 
Lady  Chester’s  nose.  Silent,  sad,  sorrowful,  and  sulky, 
I rode  away  from  the  crowd,  and  moralized  on  its  vicious 
propensities.  One  grows  marvellously  honest  when  the 
species  of  cheating  before  us  is  not  suited  to  one’s  self. 
Fortunately,  my  better  angel  reminded  me,  that  about  the 
distance  of  three  miles  from  the  course  lived  an  old  college 
friend,  blessed,  since  we  had  met,  with  a parsonage  and  a 
wife.  I knew  his  tastes  too  well  to  imagine  that  any 
allurement  of  an  equestrian  nature  could  have  seduced 
him  from  the  ease  of  his  library  and  the  dignity  of  his 
books ; and  hoping,  therefore,  that  I should  find  him  at 
home,  turned  my  horse’s  head  in  an  opposite  direction, 
and,  rejoiced  at  the  idea  of  my  escape,  bade  adieu  to  the 
course. 

As  I cantered  across  the  far  end  of  the  heath,  my  horse 
started  from  an  object  upon  the  ground  ; it  was  a man 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a long  horseman’s  cloak 
and  so  web  guarded  as  to  the  face,  from  the  raw  inclem- 


PELHAM;  OR 


ib 

ency  of  the  day,  that  I could  not  catch  even  a glimpse  of 
the  features,  through  the  hat  and  neck-shawl  which  con- 
cealed them.  The  head  was  turned,  with  apparent  anxiety, 
towards  the  distant  throng ; and  imagining  the  man 
belonging  to  the  lower  orders,  with  whom  I am  always 
familiar,  I addressed  to  him,  en  passant,  some  trifling 
remark  on  the  event  of  the  race.  He  made  no  answer. 
There  was  something  about  him  which  induced  me  to  look 
back  several  moments  after  I had  left  him  behind.  He 
had  not  moved  an  inch.  There  is  such  a certain  uncom- 
fortableness always  occasioned  to  the  mind  by  stillness 
and  mystery  united,  that  even  the  disguising  garb,  and 
motionless  silence  of  the  man,  innocent  as  I thought  they 
must  have  been,  impressed  themselves  disagreeably  on  my 
meditations  as  I rode  briskly  on. 

It  is  my  maxim  never  to  be  unpleasantly  employed,  even 
in  thought,  if  I can  help  it;  accordingly  I changed  the 
course  of  my  reflection,  and  amused  myself  with  wondering 
how  matrimony  and  clerical  dignity  sat  on  the  indolent 
shoulders  of  my  old  acquaintance. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


41 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

And  as  for  me,  tho’  that  I can  bnt  lite 
On  bookes  for  me  to  read,  I me  delight. 

And  to  hem  give  I f lith  and  fu  1 credence, 

And  in  mine  heart  have  hem  in  reverence, 

So  heartily  that  there  is  game  none, 

That  fro’  niy  bookes  maketh  me  to  gone. — Chaucer. 

Christopher  Clutterbuck  was  a common  individual 
of  a common  order,  but  little  known  in  this  busy  and 
toiling  world.  I cannot  flatter  myself  that  I am  about  to 
present  to  your  notice  that  rara  avis,  a new  character  — 
yet  there  is  something  interesting,  and  even  unhackneyed, 
in  the  retired  and  simple  class  to  which  he  belongs  : and 
before  I proceed  to  a darker  period  of  my  memoirs,  I feel 
a calm  and  tranquillizing  pleasure  in  the  rest  which  a brief 
and  imperfect  delineation  of  my  college  companion  affords 
me.  My  friend  came  up  to  the  University  with  the  learn- 
ing which  one  about  to  quit  the  world  might,  with  credit, 
have  boasted  of  possessing,  and  the  simplicity  which  one 
about  to  enter  it  would  have  been  ashamed  to  confess. 
Quiet  and  shy,  in  his  habits  and  his  manners,  he  was  never 
seen  out  of  the  precincts  of  his  apartment,  except  in 
obedience  to  the  stated  calls  of  dinner,  lectures,  and 
chapel.  Then  his  small  and  stooping  form  might  be 
marked,  crossing  the  quadrangle  with  a hurried  step,  and 
cautiously  avoiding  the  smallest  blade  of  the  barren  grass* 


48 


PELHAM:  OR 


plots,  which  are  forbidden  ground  to  the  feet  of  all  the 
lower  orders  of  the  collegiate  oligarchy.  Many  were  the 
smiles  and  the  jeers,  from  the  worse  natured  and  better 
appointed  students,  who  loitered  idly  along  the  court,  at 
the  rude  garb  and  saturnine  appearance  of  the  humble 
under-graduate ; and  the  calm  countenance  of  the  grave, 
but  amiable  man,  who  then  bore  the  honor  and  onus  of 
mathematical  lecturer  at  our  college,  would  soften  into  a 
glance  of  mingled  approbation  and  pity,  as  he  noted  the 
eagerness  which  spoke  from  the  wan  cheek  and  emaciated 
frame  of  the  ablest  of  his  pupils,  hurrying  — after  each 
legitimate  interruption  — to  the  enjoyment  of  the  crabbed 
characters  and  worm-worn  volumes,  which  contained  for 
him  all  the  seductions  of  pleasure,  and  all  the  temptations 
of  youth. 

It  is  a melancholy  thing,  which  none  but  those  educated 
at  a college  can  understand,  to  see  the  debilitated  frames 
of  the  aspirants  for  academical  honors  ; to  mark  the  prime 
— the  verdure  — the  glory  — the  life  — of  life  wasted 
irrevocably  away  in  a labor  ineptiarum,  which  brings  no 
harvest  either  to  others  or  themselves.  For  the  poet,  the 
philosopher,  the  man  of  science,  we  can  appreciate  the 
recompense  if  we  commiserate  the  sacrifice ; from  the 
darkness  of  their  retreat  there  goes  a light  — from  the 
silence  of  their  studies  there  issues  a voice, — to  illumine 
or  convince.  We  can  imagine  them  looking  from  their 
privations  to  the  far  visions  of  the  future,  and  hugging  to 
their  hearts,  in  the  strength  of  no  unnatural  vanity,  the 
reward  which  their  labors  are  certain  hereafter  to  obtain. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


49 


To  those  wha  can  anticipate  the  vast  dominions  of  im- 
mortality among  men,  what  boots  the  sterility  of  the 
cabined  and  present?  Bat  the  mere  man  of  lan- 

guages and  learning — the  machine  of  a memory  heavily 
but  unprofitably  employed  — the  Columbus  wasting  at 
the  galley  oar  the  energies  which  should  have  discovered 
a world  — for  him  there  is  no  day-dream  of  the  future,  no 
grasp  at  the  immortality  of  fame.  Beyond  the  walls  of 
his  narrow  room  he  knows  no  object ; beyond  the  eluci- 
dation of  a dead  tongue  he  indulges  no  ambition  ; his  life 
is  one  long  school-day  of  lexicons  and  grammars  — a 
Fabric  of  Ice,  cautiously  excluded  from  a single  sun- 
beam — elaborately  useless,  ingeniously  unprofitable  ; and 
leaving,  at  the  moment  it  melts  away,  not  a single  trace 
of  the  space  it  occupied,  or  the  labor  it  cost. 

At  the  time  I went  to  the  University,  my  poor  collegian 
had  attained  all  the  honors  his  employment  could  ever 
procure  him.  He  had  been  a Pitt  scholar  ; he  was  a senior 
wrangler,  and  a Fellow  of  his  college.  It  often  happened 
that  I found  myself  next  to  him  at  dinner,  and  I was  struck 
by  his  abstinence,  and  pleased  with  his  modesty,  despite 
the  gaucherie  of  his  manner,  and  the  fashion  of  his  garb. 
By  degrees  I insinuated  myself  into  his  acquaintance  ; and 
as  I had  always  some  love  of  scholastic  lore,  I took 
frequent  opportunities  of  conversing  with  him  upon 
Horace,  and  consulting  him  upon  Lucian. 

lllany  a dim  twilight  have  we  sat  together,  reviving 
each  other’s  recollection,  and  occasionally  relaxing  into 
the  grave  amusement  of  capping  verses.  Then,  if  by  any 
IL— 5 


50 


P E L H A M ; OR, 


chance  my  ingenuity  or  memory  enabled  m^  to  puzzle  my 
companion,  his  good  temper  would  lose  itself  in  a quaint 
pettishness,  or  he  would  hurl  against  me  some  line  of 
Aristophanes,  and  ask  me,  with  a raised  voice,  and  arched 
brow,  to  give  him  a fitting  answer  to  that  But  if,  as  was 
much  more  frequently  the  case,  he  fairly  ran  me  down 
into  a pause  and  confession  of  inability,  he  would  rub  his 
hands  with  a strange  chuckle,  and  offer  me,  in  the  boun- 
teousness of  his  heart,  to  read  aloud  a Greek  Ode  of  his 
own,  while  he  treated  me  ‘'to  a dish  of  tea.”  There  was 
much  in  the  good  man’s  innocence,  and  guilelessness  of  soul, 
which  made  me  love  him,  and  I did  not  rest  till  I had 
procured  him,  before  I left  the  University,  the  living  which 
he  now  held.  Since  then,  he  married  the  daughter  of  a 
neighboring  clergyman,  an  event  of  which  he  had  duly 
informed  me  ; but,  though  this  great  step  in  the  life  of  “ a 
reading  man  ” had  not  taken  place  many  months  since,  I 
had  completely,  after  a hearty  wish  for  his  domestic  hap- 
piness, consigned  it  to  a dormant  place  in  my  recollection. 

The  house  which  I now  began  to  approach  was  small, 
but  comfortable  ; perhaps  there  was  something  melancholy 
in  the  old-fashioned  hedges,  cut  and  trimmed  with  mathe- 
matical precision,  which  surrounded  the  glebe,  as  well  as 
in  the  heavy  architecture  and  dingy  bricks  of  the  reverend 
recluse’s  habitation.  To  make  amends  for  this,  there  was 
also  something  peculiarly  still  and  placid  about  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  house,  which  must  have  suited  well  the 
tastes  and  habits  of  the  owner.  A small,  formal  lawn  was 
adorned  with  a square  fish-pond,  bricked  round,  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


51 


covered  with  the  green  weepings  of  four  willows,  which 
drooped  over  it  from  their  station  at  each  corner.  At 
the  opposite  side  of  this  Pierian  reservoir,  was  a hermitage, 
or  arbor  of  laurels,  shaped  in  the  stiff  rusticity  of  the 
Dutch  school,  in  the  prevalence  of  which  it  was  probably 
planted ; behind  this  arbor,  the  ground,  after  a slight 
railing,  terminated  in  an  orchard. 

The  sound  I elicited  from  the  gate  bell  seemed  to  ring 
through  that  retired  place  with  singular  shrillness  ; and  I 
observed  at  the  opposite  window,  all  that  bustle  of  drawing 
curtains,  peeping  faces,  and  hasty  retreats,  which  denote 
female  anxiety  and  perplexity,  at  the  unexpected  approach 
of  a stranger. 

After  some  time  the  parson’s  single  servant,  a middle- 
aged,  slovenly  man,  in  a loose  frock,  and  grey  kerseymere 
nondescripts,  opened  the  gate,  and  informed  me  that  his 
master  was  at  home.  With  a few  earnest  admonitions 
to  my  adrnitter  — who  was,  like  the  domestics  of  many 
richer  men,  both  groom  and  valet  — respecting  the  safety 
of  my  borrowed  horse,  I entered  the  house  : the  servant 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  inquire  my  name,  but  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  study,  with  the  brief  introduction  of 
— “A  gentleman,  sir.” 

Clutterbuck  was  standing,  with  his  back  towards  me, 
upon  a pair  of  library  steps,  turning  over  some  dusky 
volumes;  and  below  stood  a pale,  cadaverous  youth,  with 
a set  and  serious  countenance,  that  bore  no  small  likeness 
to  Clutterbuck  himself. 

''  Mon  Dieu^^^  thought  I,  he  cannot  have  made  such 


52 


PELHAM;  OR, 


good  use  of  his  matrimonial  state  as  to  have  raised  this 
lanky  impression  of  himself  in  the  space  of  seven  months  1 ’’ 
The  good  man  turned  round,  and  almost  fell  off  the  steps 
with  the  nervous  shock  of  beholding  me  so  near  him  ; he 
descended  with  precipitation,  and  shook  me  so  warmly 
and  tightly  by  the  hand,  that  he  brought  tears  into  my 
eyes,  as  well  as  his  own. 

“Gently,  my  good  friend,”  said  I — “joarce,  precoi ^ 
or  you  will  force  me  to  say,  ‘ ibimus  und  ambo,  fientes 
valido  connexi  foedere.’” 

Clutterbuck’s  eyes  watered  still  more,  when  he  heard 
the  grateful  sounds  of  what  to  him  was  the  mother  tongue. 
He  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot  with  an  air  of  benign 
and  fatherly  complacency,  and  dragging  forth  from  its 
sullen  rest  a large  arm-chair,  on  whose  cushions  of  rusty 
horse-hair  sat  an  eternal  cloud  of  classic  dust,  too  sacred 
to  be  disturbed,  plumped  me  down  upon  it,  before  I 
was  aware  of  the  cruel  hospitality. 

“ Oh  ! my  nether  garments,”  thought  I.  “ Quantus  sudor 
inerit  Bedoso,  to  restore  you  to  your  pristine  purity  ! ” 

“ But  whence  come  you  ? ” said  my  host,  who  cherished 
rather  a formal  and  antiquated  method  of  speech. 

“ From  the  Pythian  games,”  said  I ; “ the  campus  hight 
Newmarket.  Do  I see  right,  or  is  not  yon  insignis 
juvenis  marvellously  like  you  ? Of  a surety  he  rivals  the 
Titans,  if  he  is  only  a seven  months’  child  ! ” 

“ Now,  truly,  my  worthy  friend,”  answered  Clutterbuck, 
“ you  indulge  in  jesting  ! The  boy  is  my  nephew,  a goodly 
child,  and  pains-taking  I hope  he  will  thrive  at  our  gentle 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


53 


mother.  He  goes  to  Trinity  next  October.  Benjamin 
Jeremiah,  my  lad,  this  is  my  worthy  friend  and  benefactor, 
of  whom  I have  often  spoken  ; go,  and  order  him  of  our 
best  — he  will  partake  of  our  repast!^’ 

“ Ho,  really,’’  I began  ; but  Clutterbuck  gently  placed 
the  hand,  whose  strength  of  affection  I had  already  so 
forcibly  experienced,  upon  my  mouth.  Pardon  me,  my 
friend,”  said  he.  ^‘Ho  stranger  should  depart  till  he  had 
broken  bread  with  us  ; how  much  more  than  a friend  1 
Go,  Benjamin  Jeremiah,  and  tell  your  aunt  that  Mr.  Pel- 
ham will  dine  with  us;  and  order,  furthermore,  that  the 
barrel  of  oysters  sent  unto  us  as  a present,  by  my  worthy 
friend  Dr.  Swallow’em,  be  dressed  in  the  fashion  that 
seemeth  best ; they  are  a classic  dainty,  and  we  shall  think 
of  our  great  masters  the  ancients  whilst  we  devour  them. 
And  — stop,  Benjamin  Jeremiah,  see  that  we  have  the 
wine  with  the  black  seal;  and  — now  — go,  Benjamin 
Jeremiah  ! ” 

Well,  my  old  friend,”  said  I,  when  the  door  closed 
upon  the  sallow  and  smileless  nephew,  “ how  do  you  love 
the  connubial  yoke  ? Do  you  give  the  same  advice  as 
Socrates  ? I hope,  at  least,  it  is  not  from  the  same  ex- 
perience.” 

Hem  ! ” answered  the  grave  Christopher,  in  a tone  that 
struck  me  as  somewhat  nervous  and  uneasy,  you  are 
become  quite  a humorist  since  we  parted.  I suppose  you 
have  been  warming  your  wit  by  the  lambent  fires  of 
Horace  and  Aristophanes  ! ” 

No,”  said  I,  “the  living  allow  those  whose  toilsome 
5* 


54 


1?ELHAM;  OR, 


lot  it  is  to  mix  constantly  with  them,  but  little  time  ta 
study  the  monuments  of  the  dead.  But,  in  sober  earnest, 
are  you  as  happy  as  I wish  you  ? 

Clutterbuck  looked  down  for  a moment,  and  then, 
turning  towards  the  table,  laid  one  hand  upon  a manuscript, 
and  pointed  with  the  other  to  his  books.  *‘With  this 
society,’’  said  he,  how  can  I be  otherwise  ? ” 

I gave  him  no  reply,  but  put  my  hand  upon  his  manu- 
script. He  made  a modest  and  coy  effort  to  detain  it,  but 
I knew  that  writers  were  like  women,  and,  making  use  of 
no  displeasing  force,  I possessed  myself  of  the  paper. 

It  was  a treatise  on  the  Greek  participle.  My  heart 
sickened  within  me  ; but,  as  I caught  the  eager  glance  of 
the  poor  author,  I brightened  up  my  countenance  into  an 
expression  of  pleasure,  and  appeared  to  read  and  comment 
upon  the  difficiles  nugce  with  an  interest  commensurate 
to  his  own.  Meanwhile  the  youth  returned.  He  had 
much  of  that  delicacy  of  sentiment  which  always  accompa- 
nies mental  cultivation,  of  whatever  sort  it  may  be.  He 
went,  with  a scarlet  blush  over  his  thin  face,  to  his  uncle, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear,  which,  from  the  angry 
embarrassment  it  appeared  to  occasion,  I was  at  no  loss 
to  divine. 

**  Come,”  said  I,  we  are  too  long  acquainted  for 
ceremony.  Your  placens  uxor^  like  all  ladies  in  the  same 
predicament,  thinks  your  invitation  a little  unadvised  ; 
and,  in  real  earnest,  I have  so  long  a ride  to  perform, 
that  I would  rather  eat  your  oysters  another  day  1 ” 

^'No,  no,”  said  Clutterbuck,  with  greater  eagerness 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


55 


than  his  even  temperament  was  often  hurried  into  betraying 
— no,  I will  go  and  reason  with  her  myself.  ^ Wives, 
obey  your  husbands,’  saith  the  preacher ! ” And  the 
quondam  senior  wrangler  almost  upset  bis  chair  in  the 
perturbation  with  which  he  arose  from  it. 

I laid  my  hand  upon  him.  Let  me  go  myself,”  said  I, 
“ since  you  will  have  me  dine  with  you.  ‘ The  sex  is  ever 
to  a stranger  kind,  ’ and  I shatl  probably  be  more  persuasive 
than  you,  in  despite  of  your  legitimate  authority.” 

So  saying,  I left  the  room,  with  a curiosity  more  painful 
than  pleasing,  to  see  the  collegian’s  wife.  I arrested  the 
man-servant,  and  ordered  him  to  usher  and  announce  me. 

I was  led  insianter  into  the  apartment  where  I had 
discovered  all  the  signs  of  female  inquisitiveness,  which  I 
have  before  detailed.  There  I discovered  a small  woman, 
in  a robe  equally  slatternly  and  fine,  with  a sharp  pointed 
nose,  small,  cold,  grey  eyes,  and  a complexion  high  towards 
the  cheek-bones,  but  waxing  of  a light  green  before  it 
reached  the  wide  and  querulous  mouth,  which,  well  I ween, 
seldom  opened  to  smile  upon  the  unfortunate  possessor  of 
her  charms.  She,  like  the  Rev.  Christopher,  was  not 
without  her  companions ; a tall  meagre  woman,  of  ad- 
vanced age,  and  a girl,  some  years  younger  than  herself, 
were  introduced  to  me  as  her  mother  and  sister. 

My  entre  occasioned  no  little  confusion,  but  I knew  well 
how  to  remedy  that.  I held  out  my  hand  so  cordially  te 
tho  wife,  that  I enticed,  though  with  evident  reluctance, 
two  bony  fingers  into  my  own,  which  I did  not  dismiss 
without  a most  mollifying  and  affectionate  squeeze ; and 
2b 


56 


PELHAM;  OR, 


drawing  my  chair  close  towards  her,  began  conversing  as 
familiarly  as  if  I had  known  the  whole  triad  for  years.  I 
declared  my  joy  at  seeing  my  old  friend  so  happily  settled 
— commented  on  the  improvement  of  his  looks  — ventured 
a sly  joke  at  the  good  effects  of  matrimony  — praised  a 
cat  couchant,  worked  in  worsted  by  the  venerable  hand  of 
the  eldest  matron  — offered  to  procure  her  a real  cat  of 
the  true  Persian  breed,  black  ears  four  inches  long,  with 
a tail  like  a squirrel’s ; and  then  slid,  all  at  once,  into 
the  unauthorized  invitation  of  the  good  man  of  the  house. 

“ Clutterbuck,”  said  I,  ‘‘has  asked  me  very  warmly  to 
stay  dinner ; but,  before  I accepted  his  offer,  I insisted 
upon  coming  to  see  how  far  it  was  confirmed  by  you. 
Gentlemen,  you  are  aware,  my  dear  Madam,  know  nothing 
of  these  matters,  and  I never  accept  a married  man’s  in- 
vitation till  it  has  the  sanction  of  his  lady  ; I have  an 
example  of  that  at  home.  My  mother  (Lady  Frances) 
is  the  best-tempered  woman  in  the  world  : but  my  father 
could  no  more  take  the  liberty  (for  I may  truly  call  it 
such)  to  ask  even  his  oldest  friend  to  dinner,  without 
consulting  the  mistress  of  the  house,  than  he  could  think 
of  flying.  No  one  (says  my  mother,  and  she  says  what 
is  very  true),  can  tell  about  the  household  affairs,  but 
those  who  have  the  management  of  them  ; and  in  persu- 
arice  of  this  aphorism,  I dare  not  accept  any  invitation  in 
this  house,  except  from  its  mistress.” 

“Really,”  said  Mrs.  Clutterbuck,  coloring,  with  mingled 
embarrassment  and  gratification,  “you  are  very  consid- 
erate and  polite,  Mr.  Pelham  : I only  wish  Mr.  Clutterbuck 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


5; 


paid  half  your  attention  to  these  things ; nobody  can  tell 
the  trouble  and  inconvenience  he  puts  me  to.  .If  I had 
known,  a little  time  before,  that  you  were  coming  — but 
now  I fear  we  have  nothing  in  the  house  ; but  if  you  can 
partake  of  our  fare,  such  as  it  is,  Mr.  Pelham — 

“ Your  kindness  enchants  me,’^  I exclaimed,  ^‘and  I no 
longer  scruple  to  confess  the  pleasure  I have  in  accepting 
my  old  friend’s  offer.” 

This  affair  being  settled,  I continued  to  converse  for 
some  minutes  with  as  much  vivacity  as  I could  summon  to 
my  aid,  and  when  I went  once  more  to  the  library,  it  was 
with  the  comfortable  impression  of  having  left  those  as 
friends,  whom  I had  visited  as  foes. 

The  dinner  hour  was  four,  and,  till  it  came,  Clutterbuck 
and  I amused  ourselves  “in  commune  wise  and  sage.” 
There  was  something  high  in  the  sentiments  and  generous 
in  the  feelings  of  this  man,  which  made  me  the  more  regret 
the  bias  of  mind  which  rendered  them  so  unavailing.  At 
college  he  had  never  (illis  dissimilis  in  nostro  tempore 
natisf)  cringed  fo  the  possessors  of  clerical  power.  In 
the  duties  of  his  station  as  dean  of  the  college,  he  was 
equally  strict  to  the  black  cap  and  the  lordly  hat.  Nay, 
when  one  of  his  private  pupils,  whose  father  was  possessed 
of  more  church  preferment  than  any  nobleman  in  the 
peerage,  disobeyed  his  repeated  summons,  and  constantly 
neglected  to  attend  his  instructions,  he  sent  for  him,  re- 
signed his  tuition,  and  refused  any  longer  to  accept  a 
salary  which  the  negligence  of  his  pupil  would  not  allow 
him  to  requite.  In  his  clerical  tenets  he  was  high  ; in  hia 


58 


PELHAM;  OR, 


judgment  of  others  ho  was  mild.  His  knowledge  of  the 
liberty  of*  Greece  was  not  drawn  from  the  ignorant  histo- 
rian of  her  Republics;*  nor  did  he  find  in  the  contem- 
plative mildness  and  gentle  philosophy  of  the  ancients, 
nothing  but  a sanction  for  modern  bigotry  and  existing 
abuses. 

It  was  a remarkable  trait  in  his  conversation,  that 
though  he  indulged  in  many  references  to  the  old  authors, 
and  allusions  to  classic  customs,  he  never  deviated  into 
the  innumerable  quotations  with  which  his  memory  was 
stored.  No  words,  in  spite  of  all  the  quaintness  and  an- 
tiquity of  his  dialect,  purely  Latin  or  Greek,  ever  escaped 
his  lips,  except  in  our  engagements  at  capping  verses,  or 
when  he  was  allured  into  accepting  a challenge  of  learning 
from  some  of  its  pretenders ; then,  indeed,  he  could  pour 
forth  such  a torrent  of  authorities  as  effectually  silenced 
his  opponent;  but  these  contests  were  rarely  entered  into, 
and  these  triumphs  moderately  indulged.  Yet  he  loved 
the  use  of  quotations  in  others,  and  I knew  the  greatest 
pleasure  I could  give  him  was  in  the  frequent  use  of  them. 
Perhaps  he  thought  it  would  seem  like  an  empty  parade 
of  learning  in  one  who  so  confessedly  possessed  it,  to  deal 
in  the  strange  words  of  another  tongue,  and  consequently 
rejected  them,  while,  with  an  innocent  inconsistency, 


* It  is  really  a disgrace -to  our  University,  that  any  of  its  colleges 
should  accept  as  a reference,  or  even  tolerate  as  an  author,  the 
presumptuous  bigot  vv^ho  has  bequeathed  to  us,  in  his  History  of 
Greece,  the  masterpiece  of  a declaimer  without  energy,  and  of  a 
pedant  without  learning. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


59 


characteristic  of  the  man,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
there  was  any  thing,  either  in  the  quaintness  of  his  dialect 
or  the  occupations  of  his  leisure,  which  might  subject  him 
to  the  same  imputation  of  pedantry. 

And  yet,  at  times,  when  he  warmed  in  his  subject,  there 
was  a tone  in  his  language  as  well  as  sentiment,  which 
might  not  be  improperly  termed  eloquent ; and  the  real 
modesty  and  quiet  enthusiasm  of  his  nature,  took  away, 
from  the  impression  he  made,  the  feeling  of  pomposity 
and  affectation  with  which  otherwise  he  might  have  in- 
spired you. 

You  have  a calm  and  quiet  habitation  here,”  said  I ; 
‘‘the  very  rooks  seem  to  have  something  lulling  in  that 
venerable  caw  which  it  always  does  me  such  good  to 
hear.” 

“Yes,”  answered  Clutterbuck,  “ I own  that  there  is 
much  that  is  grateful  to  the  temper  of  my  mind  in  this 
retired  spot.  I fancy  that  I can  the  better  give  myself 
up  to  the  contemplation  which  makes,  as  it  were,  my  in- 
tellectual element  and  food.  And  yet  I dare  say  that  in 
this  (as  in  all  other  things)  I do  strongly  err ; for  I 
remember  that  during  my  only  sojourn  in  London,  I was 
wont  to  feel  the  sound  of  wheels  and  of  the  throng  of  steps 
shake  the  windows  of  my  lodging  in  the  Strand,  as  if  it 
were  but  a warning  to  recall  my  mind  more  closely  to  its 
studies:  — of  a verity  that  noisy  evidence  of  man’s  labor 
reminded  me  how  little  the  great  interests  of  this  rolling 
world  were  to  me,  and  the  feeling  of  solitude  amongst  the 
crowds  without,  made  me  cling  more  fondly  to  the  company 


60  PELHAM;  OR, 

I found  within.  For  it  seems  that  the  mind  is  ever  ad- 
dicted to  contraries,  and  that  when  it  be  transplanted  into 
a soil  where  all  its  neighbors  do  produce  a certain  fruit, 
it  doth,  from  a strange  perversity,  bring  forth  one  of  a 
different  sort.  You  would  little  believe,  my  honored 
friend,  that  in  this  lonely  seclusion,  I cannot  at  all  times 
prohibit  my  thoughts  from  wandering  to  that  gay  world 
of  London,  which,  during  my  tarry  therein,  occupied  them 
in  so  partial  a degree.  You  smile,  my  friend,  nevertheless 
it  is  true  ; and  when  you  reflect  that  I dwelt  in  the  western 
department  of  the  metropolis,  near  unto  the  noble  mansion 
of  Somerset  House,  and  consequently  in  the  very  centre  of 
what  the  idle  call  Fashion,  you  will  not  be  so  surprised 
at  the  occasional  migration  of  my  thoughts.’^ 

Here  the  worthy  Clutterbuck  paused  and  sighed  slightly. 
‘‘  Do  you  farm,  or  cultivate  your  garden,’’  said  I ; they 
are  no  ignoble  nor  unclassical  employments?” 

^‘Unhappily,”  answered  Clutterbuck,  “I  am  inclined  to 
neither  ; my  chest  pains  me  with  a sharp  and  piercing  pang 
when  I attempt  to  stoop,  and  my  respiration  is  short  and 
asthmatic  ; and,  in  truth,  I seldom  love  to  stir  from  my 
books  and  papers.  I go  with  Pliny  to  his  garden,  and* 
with  Yirgil  to  his  farm  ; those  mental  excursions  are  the 
sole  ones  I indulge  in  ; and  when  I think  of  my  appetite 
for  application,  and  my  love  of  idleness,  I am  tempted  to 
wax  proud  of  the  propensities  which  reverse  the  censure  of 
Tacitus  on  our  German  ancestors,  and  incline  so  fondly  to 
quiet,  while  they  turn  so  restlessly  from  sloth.” 

Here  the  speaker  was  interrupted  by  a long,  low,  dry 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


61 


cou^h,  which  penetrated  me  to  the  heart.  *‘Alas ! 
thought  I,  as  I heard  it,  and  looked  upon  my  poor  friend’s 
hectic  and  hollow  cheek,  ‘Mt  is  not  only  his  mind  that  will 
be  the  victim  to  the  fatality  of  his  studies.” 

It  was  some  moments  before  I renewed  the  conversa  Jen, 
and  I had  scarcely  done  so  before  I was  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  Benjamin  Jeremiah,  with  a message  from 
his  aunt  that  dinner  would  be  ready  in  a few  minutes. 
Another  long  whisper  to  Christopher  succeeded.  The  ci- 
devant  fellow  of  Trinity  looked  down  at  his  garments  with 
a perplexed  air.  I saw  at  once  that  he  had  received  a hint 
on  the  propriety  of  a change  of  raiment.  To  give  him  due 
leisure  for  this,  I asked  the  youth  to  show  me  a room  in 
which  I might  perform  the  usual  ablutions  previous  to 
dinner,  and  followed  him  up  stairs  to  a comfortless  sort 
of  dressing-room,  without  a fire-place,  where  I found  a 
yellow-ware  jug  and  basin,  and  a towel,  of  so  coarse  a 
huckaback,  that  I did  not  dare  adventure  its  rough  texture 
next  my  complexion  — my  skin  is  not  made  for  such  rude 
fellowship.  While  I was  tenderly  and  daintily  anointing 
my  hands  with  some  hard  w^ater,  of  no  Blandusian  spring, 
and  that  vile  composition  entitled  Windsor  soap,  I heard 
the  difficult  breathing  of  poor  Clutterbuck  on  the  stairs, 
and  soon  after  he  entered  the  adjacent  room.  Two  minutes 
more,  and  his  servant  joined  him,  for  I heard  the  rough 
voice  of  the  domestic  say,  There  is  no  more  of  the  wine 
with  the  black  seal  left,  sir  ! ” 

No  more,  good  Dixon  ? you  mistake  grievously.  I 
had  two  dozen  not  a week  since.” 

IT.  — fi 


62 


PELHAM;  OR 


Don’t  know,  I’m  sure,  sir  ! ” answered  Dixon,  with  a 
careless  and  half-impertinent  accent ; “ but  there  are  great 
things,  like  alligators,  in  the  cellar,  which  break  all  the 
bottles  ! ” 

“Alligators  in  my  cellar ! ” said  the  astonished  Clutter- 
buck. 

“ Yes,  sir — at  least  a venomous  sort  of  reptile  like  them, 
which  the  people  about  here  call  efts!^’^ 

“What!”  said  Clutterbuck,  innocently,  and  evidently 
not  seeing  the  irony  of  his  own  question  ; “ What ! have 
the  efts  broken  two  dozen  bottles  in  a week  ? Of  an  ex- 
ceeding surety,  it  is  strange  that  a little  creature  of  the 
lizard  species  should  be  so  destructive  — perchance  they 
have  an  antipathy  to  the  vinous  smell ; I will  confer  with 
my  learned  friend.  Dr.  Dissectall,  touching  their  strength 
and  habits.  Bring  up  some  of  the  port,  then,  good  Dixon.” 

“ Yes,  sir.  All  the  corn  is  out ; I had  none  for  the  gen- 
tleman’s horse.” 

“ Why,  Dixon,  my  memory  fails  me  strangely,  or  I paid 
you  the  sura  of  four  pounds  odd  shillings  for  corn  on  Friday 
last.” 

“ Yes,  sir  : but  your  cow  and  the  chickens  eat  so  much  ; 
and  then  blind  Dobbin  has  four  feeds  a-day,  and  Farmer 
Johnson  always  puts  his  horse  in  our  stable,  and  Mrs. 
Clutterbuck  and  the  ladies  fed  the  jackass  the  other  day 
in  the  hired  donkey-chaise  ; besides,  the  rats  and  mice  are 
always  at  it.” 

“ It  is  a marvel  unto  me,”  answered  Clutterbuck,  “how 
detritnental  the  vermin  race  are  ; they  seem  to  have  noted 


adventures  of  a gentleman.  C3 

my  poor  possessions  as  their  especial  prey ; remind  me 
that  I write  to  Dr.  Dissectall  to-morrow,  good  Dixon. 

Yes,  sir  ; and  now  I think  of  it — But  here  Mr.  Dixon 
was  cut  short  in  his  items,  by  the  entrance  of  a third  per* 
son,  who  proved  to  be  Mrs.  Clutterbuck. 

What,  not  dressed  yet,  Mr.  Clutterbuck  ! what  a daw^ 
dler  you  are!  — and  do  look  — was  ever  a woman  se 
used  ? You  have  wiped  your  razor  upon  my  nightcap  — 
you  dirty,  slovenly 

“ I crave  you  many  pardons ; I own  my  error  ! ” said 
Clutterbuck,  in  a nervous  tone  of  interruption. 

''  Error,  indeed  ! ’’  cried  Mrs.  Clutterbuck,  in  a sharp, 
overstretched,  querulous  falsetto,  suited  to  the  occasion  : 
“but  this  is  always  the  case  — I am  sure  my  poor  temper 
is  tried  to  the  utmost  — and  Lord  help  thee,  idiot!  you 
have  thrust  those  spindle  legs  of  yours  into  your  coat- 
sleeves  instead  of  your  breeches  ! 

“ Of  a truth,  good  wife,  your  eyes  are  more  discerning 
than  mine  ; and  my  legs,  which  are,  as  you  say,  somewhat 
thin,  have  indued  themselves  in  what  appertaineth  not  unto 
them  ; but  for  all  that,  Dorthea,  I am  not  deserving  of  the 
epithet  of  idiot,  with  which  you  have  been  pleased  to  favor 
me;  although  my  humble  faculties  are,  indeed,  of  no  em- 
inent  or  surpassing  order — 

“ Pooh  ! pooh  ! Mr.  Clutterbuck,  I am  sure,  I don’t  know 
what  else  you  are,  muddling  your  head  all  day  with  those 
good-for-nothing  books.  And  now  do  tell  me,  how  you 
could  think  of  asking  Mr.  Pelham  to  dinner,  when  you 
knew  we  had  nothing  in  the  world  but  hashed  mutton  and 


64 


P E L HA  M ; OR 


an  apple-pudding  ? Is  that  the  way,  sir,  you  disgrace 
your  wife,  after  her  condescension  in  marrying  you  ? 

“ Really,^’  answered  the  patient  Clutterbuck,  “ I was 
forgetful  of  those  matters  ; but  my  friend  cares  as  little 
as  myself  about  the  grosser  tastes  of  the  table  ; and  the 
feast  of  intellectual  converse  is  all  that  he  desires  in  his 
brief  sojourn  beneath  our  roof.^^ 

“ Feast  of  fiddlesticks,  Mr.  Clutterbuck  ! did  ever  man 
talk  such  nonsense  ? 

“ Besides,’^  rejoined  the  master  of  the  house,  unheeding 
this  interruption,  we  have  a luxury  even  of  the  palate, 
than  which  there  are  none  more  delicate,  and  unto  which 
he,  as  well  as  myself,  is,  I know,  somewhat  unphilosophi- 
cally  given  ; I speak  of  the  oysters,  sent  here  by  our  good 
friend  Dr.  Swallow’em.’^ 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Clutterbuck  ? My  poor  mother 
and  I had  those  oysters  last  night  for  our  supper.  I am 
sure  she,  and  my  sister,  are  almost  starved  ; but  you  are 
always  wanting  to  be  pampered  up  above  us  all.’* 

‘^Nay,  nay,”  answered  Clutterbuck,  ^^you  know  you 
accuse  me  wrongfully,  Dorothea ; but  now  I think  of  it, 
would  it  not  be  better  to  modulate  the  tone  of  our  con- 
versation, seeing  that  our  guest  (a  circumstance  which 
until  now  quite  escaped  my  recollection)  was  shown  into 
the  next  room,  for  the  purpose  of  washing  his  hands,  the 
which,  from  their  notable  cleanliness,  seemed  to  me  wholly 
unnecessary.  I would  not  have  him  overhear  you,  Doro* 
thea,  lest  his  kind  heart  should  imagine  me  less  happy  than 
— than  — it  wishes  me!” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


65 


Good  God,  Mr.  Cliitterbuck  ! ’’  were  the  only  words 
I heard  farther  : and  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  a suffoca- 
ting feeling  in  my  throat,  for  the  matrimonial  situation  of 
my  unfortunate  friend,  I descended  into  the  drawing-room. 
The  only  one  yet  there  was  the  pale  nephew  : he  was 
bending  painfully  over  a book  ; I took  it  from  him  ; it 
was  “Bentley  upon  Phalaris.”  I could  scarcely  refrain 
from  throwing  it  into  the  fire  — “ another  victim  ! ” thought 
I. — Oh,  the  curse  of  an  English  education  I 

By  and  by,  down  came  the  mother  and  the  sister,  then 
Clutterbuck,  and  lastly,  bedizened  out  with  gewgaws  and 
trumpery, — the  wife.  Born  and  nurtured  as  I was  in  the 
art  of  the  volto  scioUo,  pennieri  I had  seldom 

found  a more  arduous  task  of  dissimulation  than  that  which 
I experienced  now.  However,  the  hope  to  benefit  my 
friend’s  situation  assisted  me  : the  best  way,  I thought,  of 
obtaining  him  more  respect  from  his  wife,  will  be  by  showing 
her  the  respect  he  meets  with  from  others  : accordingly,  I 
sat  down  by  her,  and  having  first  conciliated  her  attention 
by  some  of  that  coin,  termed  compliments,  in  which  there  is 
no  counterfeit  that  does  not  ha\e  the  universal  effect  of 
real,  I spoke  with  the  most  profound  veneration  of  the 
talents  and  learning  of  Clutterbuck  — I dilated  upon  the 
high  reputation  he  enjoyed  — upon  the  general  esteem  in 
which  he  was  held — upon  the  kindness  of  his  heart  — the 
sincerity  of  his  modesty  — the  integrity  of  his  honor  — in 
short,  whatever  I thought  likely  to  affect  her  ; most  of  all, 
I insisted  upon  the  high  panegyrics  bestowed  upon  him 

* The  open  countenance  and  closed  thoughts. 

6* 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Of) 

by  Lord  this,  and  the  Earl  that,  and  wound  up,  with 
adding  that  I was  certain  he  would  die  a bishop.  My 
eloquence  had  its  effect ; all  dinner-time,  Mrs.  Clutterbuck 
treated  her  husband  with  even  striking  consideration  : my 
words  seemed  to  have  gifted  her  with  a new  light,  and  to 
have  wrought  a thorough  transformation  in  her  view  of 
her  lord  and  master’s  character.  Who  knows  not  the  truth, 
that  we  have  dim  and  short-sighted  eyes  to  estimate  the 
nature  of  our  own  kin,  and  that  we  borrow  the  spectacles 
which  alone  enable  us  to  discern  their  merits  or  their 
failings  from  the  opinion  of  strangers  ! It  may  be  readily 
supposed  that  the  dinner  did  not  pass  without  its  share  of 
the  ludicrous  — that  the  waiter  and  the  dishes,  the  family 
and  the  host,  would  have  afforded  ample  materials  no  less 
for  the  student  of  nature  in  Hogarth,  than  of  caricature 
in  Bunbury ; but  I was  too  seriously  occupied  in  pursuing 
my  object,  and  marking  its  success,  to  have  time  even  for 
a smile.  Ah  ! if  ever  you  would  allure  your  son  to  diplo- 
macy, show  him  how  subservient  he  may  make  it  to  be- 
nevolence. 

When  the  women  had  retired,  we  drew  our  chairs  near 
to  each  other,  and,  laying  down  my  watch  on  the  table, 
as  I looked  out  upon  the  declining  day,  I said,  Let  us 
make  the  best  of  our  time ; I can  only  linger  here  one 
half-hour  longer.” 

‘‘And  how,  my  friend,”  said  Clutterbuck,  “shall  we 
learn  the  method  of  making  the  best  use  of  time  ? there, 
whether  it  be  in  the  larger  segments,  or  the  petty  subdi- 
visions of  our  life,  rests  the  great  enigma  of  our  being. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 

Who  is  there  that  has  ever  exclaimed  — (pardon  my 
pedantry,  I am  for  once  driven  into  Greek) — Eureka! 
to  this  most  difficult  of  the  sciences  ? ’’ 

Come,’’  said  I,  ‘Mt  is  not  for  you,  the  favored  scholar 
— the  honored  academician  — whose  hours  are  never  idly 
employed,  to  ask  this  question  ! ” 

‘ Your  friendship  makes  too  flattering  the  acumen  of 
your  judgment,”  answered  the  modest  Clutterbuck.  “It 
has  indeed  been  my  lot  to  cultivate  the  fields  of  truth, 
as  transmitted  unto  our  hands  by  the  wise  men  of  old  ; 
and  I have  much  to  be  thankful  for,  that  I have,  in  the 
employ,  been  neither  curtailed  in  my  leisure,  nor  abashed 
in  my  independence  — the  two  great  goods  of  a calm 
and  meditative  mind:  yet  are  there  moments  in  which  I 
am  led  to  doubt  of  the  wisdom  of  my  pursuits  ; and  when, 
with  a feverish  and  shaking  hand,  I put  aside  the  books 
which  have  detained  me  from  my  rest  till  the  morning 
hour,  and  repair  unto  a couch  often  baffled  of  slumber  by 
the  pains  and  discomforts  of  this  worn  and  feeble  frame, 
I almost  wish  I could  purchase  the  rude  health  of  the 
peasant  by  the  exchange  of  an  idle  and  imperfect  learning 
for  the  ignorance,  content  with  the  narrow  world  it  pos- 
sesses, because  unconscious  of  the  limitless  creation  beyond. 
Yet,  my  dear  and  esteemed  friend,  there  is  a dignified  and 
tranquillizing  philosophy  in  the  writings  of  the  ancients 
which  ought  to  teach  me  a better  condition  of  mind  ; and 
when  I have  risen  from  the  lofty,  albeit,  somewhat  melan- 
choly strain,  which  swells  through  the  essays  of  the  graceful 
and  tender  Cicero,  I have  indeed  felt  a momentary  satis- 


(>8 


PELHAM;  OR, 


faction  at  my  studies,  and  an  elation  even  at  the  petty 
success  with  which  I have  cherished  them.  But  these  are 
brief  and  fleeting  moments,  and  deserve  chastisement  for 
their  pride.  There  is  one  thing,  my  Pelham,  which  has 
grieved  me  bitterly  of  late,  and  that  is,  that  in  the  earnest 
attention  which  it  is  the  — perhaps  fastidious  — custom 
of  our  University,  to  pay  to  the  minutiae  of  classic  lore, 
I do  now  oftentimes  lose  the  spirit  and  beauty  of  the 
general  bearing  ; nay,  I derive  a far  greater  pleasure  from 
the  ingenious  amendment  of  a perverted  text,  than  from 
all  the  turn  and  thought  of  the  sense  itself : while  I am 
straightening  a crooked  nail  in  the  wine-cask,  I suffer  the 
wine  to  evaporate  ; but  to  this  I am  somewhat  reconciled, 
when  I reflect  that  it  was  also  the  misfortune  of  the  great 
Porson,  and  the  elaborate  Parr,  men  with  whom  I blush 
to  find  myself  included  in  the  same  sentence.” 

“My  friend,”  said  I,  “I  wish  neither  to  wound  your 
modesty,  nor  to  impugn  your  pursuits  ; but  think  you  not 
it  would  be  better,  both  for  men  and  for  yourself,  if,  while 
you  are  yet  in  the  vigor  of  your  age  and  reason,  you 
occupy  your  ingenuity  and  application  in  some  more  useful 
and  lofty  work,  than  that  which  you  suffered  me  to  glance 
at  in  your  library  ; and,  moreover,  as  the  great  object  of 
him  who  would  perfect  his  mind,  is  first  to  strengthen  the 
faculties  of  his  body,  would  it  not  be  prudent  in  you  to 
lessen  for  a time  your  devotion  to  books  ; to  exercise 
yourself  in  the  fresh  air  — to  relax  the  bow,  by  loosing 
the  string  ; to  mix  more  with  the  living,  and  impart  to 
men  in  conversation,  as  well  as  in  writing,,  whatever  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  69 

incessant  labor  of  many  years  may  have  hoarded  ? Come, 
if  not  to  town,  at  least  to  its  vicinity  ; the  profits  of  your 
living,  if  even  tolerably  managed,  will  enable  you  to  do  so 
without  inconvenience.  Leave  your  books  to  their  shelves, 
and  your  flock  to  their  curate,  and  — you  shake  your 
Lead  — do  I displease  you  ? 

No,  no,  my  kind  and  generous  adviser  ; — but  as  the 
twig  was  set,  the  tree  must  grow.  I have  not  been  without 
that  ambition  which,  however  vain  and  sinful,  is  the  first 
passion  to  enter  the  wayward  and  tossing  vessel  of  our 
soul,  and  the  last  to  leave  its  stranded  and  shattered 
wreck  ; but  mine  found  and  attained  its  object  at  an  age 
when  in  others  it  is,  as  yet,  a vague  and  unsettled  feeling  ; 
and  it  feeds  now  rather  upon  the  recollections  of  what  has 
been,  than  ventures  forward  on  a sea  of  untried  and 
strange  expectation.  As  for  my  studies  ! how  can  you,  who 
have,  and  in  no  moderate  draught,  drunk  of  the  old  stream 
of  Castaly, — how  can  you  ask  me  now  to  change  them? 
Are  not  the  ancients  my  food,  my  aliment,  ray  solace  in 
sorrow  — my  sympathizers,  my  very  benefactors,  in  joy? 
Take  them  away  from  me,  and  you  take  away  the  very 
winds  which  purify  and  give  motion  to  the  obscure  and 
silent  current  of  my  life.  Besides,  my  Pelham,  it  cannot 
have  escaped  your  observation,  that  there  is  little  in  ray 
present  state  which  promises  a long  increase  of  days  : the 
few  that  remain  to  me  must  glide  away  like  their  prede- 
cessors ; and  whatever  be  the  infirmities  of  my  body,  and 
the  little  harassments  which,  I am  led  to  suspect,  do 
occasionally  molest  the  most  fortunate,  who  link  them- 


PELHAM;  OR, 


lO 

selves  unto  the  unstable  and  fluctuating  part  of  creation, 
w^hich  we  term  women,  more  especially  in  an  hymeneal 
capacity  — whatever  these  may  be,  I have  my  refuge  and 
my  comforter  in  the  golden-souled  and  dreaming  Plato, 
and  the  sententious  wisdom  of  the  less  imaginative  Seneca. 
Nor,  when  I am  reminded  of  my  approaching  dissolution 
by  the  symptoms  w^hich  do  mostly  at  the  midnight  hour 
press  themselves  upon  me,  is  there  a small  and  inglorious 
pleasure  in  the  hope  that  I may  meet,  hereafter,  in  those 
Islands  of  the  Blest  which  they  dimly  dreamt  of,  but 
which  are  opened  unto  my  vision;  without  a cloud,  or  mist, 
or  shadow  of  uncertainty  and  doubt,  with  those  bright 
spirits  which  we  do  now  converse  with  so  imperfectly ; that 
I may  catch  from  the  very  lips  of  Homer,  the  unclouded 
gorgeousness  of  fiction,  and  from  the  accents  of  Archime- 
des, the  unadulterated  calculations  of  truth  I 

Clutterbuck  ceased  ; and  the  glow  of  his  enthusiasm 
diffused  itself  over  his  sunken  eye  and  consumptive  cheek. 
The  boy,  who  had  sat  apart,  and  silent,  during  our  dis- 
course, laid  his  head  upon  the  table,  and  sobbed  audibly  ; 
and  I rose,  deeply  affected,  to  offer  to  one  for  whom  they 
were,  indeed,  unavailing,  the  wishes  and  blessing  of  an 
eager,  but  not  hardened  disciple  of  the  world.  We  parted  : 
on  this  earth  we  can  never  meet  again.  The  light  has 
wasted  itself  away  beneath  the  bushel.  It  will  be  six 
weeks  to-morrow  since  the  meek  and  noble-minded  aca- 
demician breathed  his  last  1 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


71 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

’Tis  but  a single  murder. — Lillo’s  Fatal  Curiosity. 

It  was  in  a melancholy  and  thoughtful  mood  that  I rode 
away  from  the  parsonage.  Numerous  and  hearty  were 
the  maledictions  I bestowed  upon  a system  of  education 
which,  while  it  was  so  ineffective  with  the  many,  was  so 
pernicious  to  the  few.  Miserable  delusion  (thought  I), 
that  encourages  the  ruin  of  health  and  the  perversion  of 
intellect,  by  studies  that  are  as  unprofitable  to  the  world 
as  they  are  destructive  to  the  possessor  — that  incapacitate 
him  for  public,  and  unfit  him  for  private,  life  ; — and  that, 
while  they  expose  him  to  the  ridicule  of  strangers,  render 
him  the  victim  of  his  wife,  and  the  prey  of  his  domestic  I 

Busied  in  such  reflections,  I rode  quickly  on,  till  I found 
myself,  once  more,  on  the  heath.  I looked  anxiously 
round  for  the  conspicuous  equipage  of  Lady  Chester,  but 
in  vain;  the  ground  was  thin — nearly  all  the  higher 
orders  had  retired  : the  common  people,  grouped  together, 
and  clamoring  noisily,  were  withdrawing  : and  the  shrill 
voices  of  the  itinerant  hawkers  of  cards  and  bills  had,  at 
length,  subsided  into  silence.  I rode  over  the  ground,  in 
the  hope  of  finding  some  solitary  straggler  of  our  party. 
Alas  ! there  was  not  one ; and  with  much  reluctance  at, 
and  distaste  to,  my  lonely  retreat,  I turned  in  a homeward 
direction  from  the  course. 


2c 


72 


PELHAM;  OR, 


The  evening  had  already  set  in,  but  there  was  a moon 
in  the  cold  grey  sky,  that  I could  almost  have  thanked,  in 
a sonnet,  for  a light  which  I felt  was  never  more  welcomely 
dispensed,  when  I thought  of  the  cross-roads  and  dreary 
country  I had  to  pass  before  I reached  the  longed-for 
haven  of  Chester  Park.  After  I had  left  the  direct  road, 
the  wind,  which  had  before  been  piercingly  keen,  fell, 
and  I perceived  a dark  cloud  behind,  which  began  slowly 
to  overtake  my  steps.  I care  little,  in  general,  for  the 
discomfort  of  a shower;  yet,  as  when  we  are  in  one  mis- 
fortune we  always  exaggerate  the  consequence  of  a new 
one,  I looked  upon  my  dark  pursuer  with  a very  impatient 
and  petulant  frown,  and  set  my  horse  on  a trot,  much  more 
suitable  to  my  inclination  than  his  own.  Indeed,  he  seemed 
fully  alive  to  the  cornless  state  of  the  parson’s  stable,  and 
evinced  his  sense  of  the  circumstance  by  a very  lanjiuid 
mode  of  progression,  and  a constant  attempt,  whenever  his 
pace  abated,  and  I suffered  the  rein  to  slumber  upon  his 
neck,  to  crop  the  rank  grass  that  sprang  up  on  either  side 
of  our  road.  I had  proceeded  about  three  miles  on  my 
way,  when  I heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  me.  My 
even  pace  soon  suffered  me  to  be  overtaken  ; and,  as  the 
stranger  checked  his  horse,  when  he  was  nearly  by  my 
side,  I turned  towards  him,  and  beheld  Sir  John  Tyrrell, 
Well,”  said  he,  “this  is  really  fortunate ; for  I began 
to  fear  I should  have  my  ride,  this  cold  evening,  entirely 
to  myself.’^ 

“ I imagined  that  you  had  long  reached  Chester  Park 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


Y8 


by  this  time/^  said  1.  ‘'Did  not  you  leave  the  course  with 
our  party  ? 

“No,’’  answered  Tyrrell;  “I  had  business,  at  New- 
market, with  a rascally  fellow  of  the  name  of  Dawson. 
He  lost  to  me  rather  a considerable  wager,  and  asked  me 
to  come  to  town  with  him  after  the  race,  in  order  to  pay 
me.  As  he  said  he  lived  on  the  direct  road  to  Chester 
Park,  and  would  direct,  and  even  accompany  me  through 
all  the  difficult  part  of  the  ride,  I the  less  regretted  not 
joining  Chester  and  his  party  ; and  you  know,  Pelham, 
that  when  pleasure  pulls  one  way,  and  money  another,  it 
is  all  over ^ with  the  first.  Well,  — to  return  to  my  rascal 
— would  you  believe,  that  when  we  got  to  Newmarket, 
he  left  me  at  the  inn,  in  order,  he  said,  to  fetch  the  money ; 
and  after  having  kept  me  in  a cold  room,  with  a smoky 
chimney,  for  more  than  an  hour,  without  making  his  ap- 
pearance, I sallied  out  into  the  town,  and  found  Mr. 
Dawson  quietly  seated  in  a hell  with  that  scoundrel  Thorn- 
ton, whom  I did  not  conceive,  till  then,  he  was  acquainted 
with.  It  seems  that  he  was  to  win,  at  hazard,  sufiQcient  to 
pay  his  wager  1 You  may  fancy  my  anger,  and  the  conse- 
quent increase  to  it,  when  he  rose  from  the  table,  ap- 
proached me,  expressed  his  sorrow,  d — d his  ill  luck,  and 
informed  me  that  he  could  not  pay  for  three  months.  You 
know  that  I could  not  ride  home  with  such  a fellow  — he 
might  have  robbed  me  by  the  way  — so  I returned  to  my 
inn  — dined  — ordered  my  horse  — set  off  — inquired  my 
way  of  every  passenger  I passed,  and  after  innumerable 
misdirections  — here  I am!” 

IL— 7 


74 


PELHAM;  OR 


I cannot  sympathize  with  you,”  said  I,  since  I am 
benefited  by  your  misfortunes.  But  do  you  think  it  very 
necessary  to  trot  so  fast  ? I fear  my  horse  can  scarcely 
keep  up  with  yours.” 

Tyrrell  cast  an  impatient  glance  at  my  panting  steed. 

It  is  cursed  unlucky  you  should  be  so  badly  mounted, 
and  we  shall  have  a pelting  shower  presently.” 

In  complaisance  to  Tyrrell,  I endeavored  to  accelerate 
my  steed.  The  roads  were  rough  and  stony ; and  I had 
scarcely  got  the  tired  animal  into  a sharp  trot,  before  — 
whether  or  no  by  some  wrench  among  the  deep  ruts  and 
flinty  causeway  — he  fell  suddenly  lame.  The  impetuosity 
of  Tyrrell  broke  out  in  oaths,  and  we  both  dismounted  to 
examine  the  cause  of  my  horse’s  hurt,  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  only  be  the  intrusion  of  some  pebble  between  the 
shoe  and  the  hoof.  While  we  were  yet  investigating  the 
cause  of  our  misfortune,  two  men  on  horseback  overtook 
us.  Tvrrell  looked  up.  '‘By  Heaven,”  said  he,  in  a low 
tone,  “it’s  that  dog  Dawson,  and  his  worthy  coadjutor, 
Tom  Thornton.” 

“ What’s  the  matter,  gentlemen  ?”  cried  the  bluff  voice 
of  the  latter.  “ Can  I be  of  any  assistance  ? ” and  without 
waiting  our  reply,  he  dismounted,  and  came  up  to  us.  He 
had  no  sooner  felt  the  horse’s  leg,  than  he  assured  us  it  was 
a most  severe  strain,  and  that  the  utmost  I could  effect 
would  be  to  walk  the  brute  gently  home. 

As  Tyrrell  broke  out  into  impatient  violence  at  this 
speech,  the  sharper  looked  up  at  him  with  an  expression 
of  countenance  I by  no  means  liked,  but  in  a very  civil  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  V-J 

even  respectful  tone,  said,  If  you  wish,  Sir  John,  to  reach 
Chester  Park  sooner  than  Mr.  Pelham  can  possibly  do, 
suppose  you  ride  on  with  us  ; I will  put  you  in  the  direct 
road  before  I quit  you.’’  (Good-breeding,  thought  I,  to 
propose  leaving  me  to  find  my  own  way  through  this  laby- 
rinth of  ruts  and  stones  !)  However,  Tyrrell,  who  was  in 
a vile  humor,  refused  the  offer,  in  no  very  courteous  man- 
ner ; and  added,  that  he  should  continue  with  me  as  long: 
as  he  could,  and  did  not  doubt  that  when  he  left  me  he 
should  be  able  to  find  his  own  way.  Thornton  pressed 
the  invitation  still  closer,  and  even  offered,  soUo  voce,  to 
send  Dawson  on  before,  should  the  baronet  object  to  his 
company. 

Pray,  sir,”  said  Tyrrell,  “leave  me  alone,  and  busy 
yourself  about  your  own  affairs.”  After  so  tart  a reply, 
Thornton  thought  it  useless  to  say  more  ; he  remounted, 
and  with  a silent  and  swaggering  nod  of  familiarity,  soon 
rode  away  with  his  companion. 

“ I am  sorry,”  said  I,  as  we  were  slowly  proceeding, 
“that  you  rejected  Thornton’s  offer.” 

“ Why,  to  say  truth,”  answered  Tyrrell,  “ I have  so  very 
bad  an  opinion  of  him,  that  I was  almost  afraid  to  trust 
myself  in  his  company  on  so  dreary  a road.  I have  nearly 
(and  he  knows  it),  to  the  amount  of  two  thousand  pounds 
about  me  ; for  I was  very  fortunate  in  ray  betting-book 
to-day.” 

“I  know  no:hing  about  racing  regulations,”  said  f; 
“but  I thought  one  never  paid  sums  of  that  amount  upon 
the  ground  ? ” 


PELHAM;  OR, 


**Ah  I ^ answered  Tyrrell,  “but  T won  this  sum,  which 
is  eighteen  hundred  pounds,  of  a country  squire  from  Nor- 
folk, who  said  he  did  not  know  when  he  should  see  me 
again,  and  insisted  on  paying  me  on  the  spot : Taith  I was 
not  nice  in  the  matter.  Thornton  was  standing  by  at  the 
lime,  and  I did  not  half  like  the  turn  of  his  eye  when  he 
saw  me  put  it  up.  Do  you  know,  too,’^  continued  Tyrrell, 
after  a pause,  “that  I had  a d — d fellow  dodging  me  all 
day,  and  yesterday  too  ; wherever  I go,  I am  sure  to  see 
him.  He  seems  constantly,  though  distantly,  to  follow 
me  ; and  what  is  worse,  he  wraps  himself  up  so  well,  and 
keeps  at  so  cautious  a distance,  that  I can  never  catch  a 
glimpse  of  his  face.” 

I know  not  why,  but  at  that  moment  the  recollection 
of  the  muffled  figure  I had  seen  upon  the  course,  flashed 
upon  me. 

“ Does  he  wear  a long  horseman’s  cloak  ? ” said  I. 

“He  does,”  answered  Tyrrell,  in  surprise;  “have  you 
observed  him  ? ” 

“ I saw  such  a person  on  the  race-ground,”  replied  I ; 
“but  only  for  an  instant  1” 

Farther  conversation  was  suspended  by  a few  heavy 
drops  which  fell  upon  us ; the  cloud  had  passed  over  the 
moon,  and  was  hastening  rapidly  and  loweringly  over  our 
heads.  Tyrrell  was  neither  of  an  age,  a frame,  nor  a tem- 
per, to  be  so  indifferent  to  a hearty  wetting  as  myself. 

“Come,  come,”  he  cried,  “you  must  put  on  that  beast 
of  your’s — I can’t  get  wet,  for  all  the  horses  in  the  world.” 

I was  not  much  pleased  with  the  dictatorial  tone  of  this 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 

remark.  ‘'It  is  impossible,’’  said  I,  “especially  as  the 
horse  is  not  my  own,  and  seems  considerably  lamer  than  at 
first;  but  let  me  not  detain  you.” 

“Weill”  cried  Tyrrell,  in  a raised  and  angry  voice, 
which  pleased  me  still  less  than  his  former  remark  ; “ but 
how  am  I to  find  my  way,  if  I leave  you  ? ” 

“ Keep  straight  on,”  said  I,  “for  a mile  farther,  then  a 
sign-post  will  direct  you  to  the  left ; after  a short  time,  you 
will  have  a steep  hill  to  descend,  at  the  bottom  of  wliich 
is  a large  pool,  and  a singularly  shaped  tree  ; then  again, 
keep  straight  on,  till  you  pass  a house  belonging  to  Mr. 
Dawson ” 

“Hang  it,  Pelham,  make  haste!”  exclaimed  Tyrrell, 
impatiently,  as  the  rain  began  now  to  descend  fast  and 
heavy. 

“When  you  have  passed  that  house,”  I resumed  coolly, 
rather  enjoying  his  petulance,  “you  must  bear  to  the  right 
for  six  miles,  and  you  will  be  at  Chester  Park  in  less  than 
an  hour.” 

Tyrrell  made  no  reply,  but  put  spurs  to  his  horse.  The 
pattering  rain  and  the  angry  heavens  soon  drowned  the 
last  echoes  of  the  receding  hoof-clang. 

For  myself,  I looked  in  vain  for  a tree  ; not  even  a shrub 
was  to  be  found  ; the  fields  lay  bare  on  either  side,  with 
no  other  partition  but  a dead  hedge,  and  a deep  dyke. 
“ MeliuH  fit  patentidfi  &c.,  thought  I,  as  Horace  said,  and 
Yincent  would  say  ; and  in  order  to  divert  my  thoughts 
from  my  situation,  I turned  them  towards  my  diplomatic 
success  with  Lord  Chester.  Presently,  for  I think  scarcely 
I* 


8 


PELHAM;  OR, 


five  minutes  had  elapsed  since  Tyrrell’s  departure,  a horse- 
man passed  me  at  a sharp  pace  ; the  moon  was  hid  by  the 
dense  cloud;  and  the  night,  though  not  wholly  dark,  was 
dim  and  obscured,  so  that  I could  only  catch  the  outline 
of  the  flitting  figure.  A thrill  of  fear  crept  over  me,  when 
1 saw  that  it  was  enveloped  in  a horseman’s  cloak.  I soon 
rallied  : — There  are  more  cloaks  in  the  world  than  one,” 
said  I to  myself ; besides,  even  if  it  be  Tyrrell’s  dodger, 
as  he  calls  him,  the  baronet  is  better  mounted  than  any 
highwayman  since  the  days  of  Du  Val ; and  is,  moreover, 
strong  enough  and  cunning  enough  to  take  admirable  care 
of  himself.”  With  this  reflection  I dismissed  the  occur- 
rence from  my  thoughts,  and  once  more  returned  to  self- 
congratulations  upon  my  own  incomparable  genius.  “ I 
shall  now,”  I thought,  “ have  well  earned  my  seat  in  Par- 
liament : Dawton  will  indisputably  be,  if  not  the  prime, 
the  principal  minister  in  rank  and  influence.  He  cannot 
fail  to  promote  me  for  his  own  sake,  as  well  as  mine  ; and 
when  I have  once  fairly  got  my  legs  in  St.  Stephen’s,  I 
shall  soon  have  my  hands  in  office  : ^ power,’  says  some  one, 
^ is  a snake  that  when  it  once  finds  a hole  into  which  it 
can  introduce  its  head,  soon  manages  to  wriggle  in  the 
rest  of  its  body.’” 

With  such  meditations  I endeavored  to  beguile  the  time, 
and  cheat  myself  into  forgetfulness  of  the  lameness  of  my 
horse,  and  the  dripping  wetness  of  his  rider.  At  last  the 
storm  began  sullenly  to  subside : one  impetuous  torrent, 
ten-fold  more  violent  than  those  that  had  preceded  it,  was 
followed  by  a momentary  stillness,  which  was  again  broken 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  7D 

by  a short  relapse  of  a less  formidable  severity,  and,  the 
moment  it  ceased,  the  beautiful  moon  broke  out,  the  cloud 
rolled  heavily  away,  and  the  sky  shone  forth,  as  fair  and 

smiling  as  Lady at  a ball,  after  she  has  been  beating 

her  husband  at  home. 

But  at  that  instant,  or  perhaps  a second  before  the  storm 
ceased,  I thought  I heard  the  sound  of  a human  cry.  I 
paused,  and  ray  heart  stood  still  — I could  have  heard  a 
gnat  hum  : the  sound  was  not  repeated  ; my  ear  caught 
nothing  but  the  plashing  of  the  rain-drops  from  the  dead 
hedges,  and  the  murmur  of  the  swollen  dykes,  as  the  waters 
pent  within  them  rolled  hurriedly  on.  By  and  by,  an  owl 
came  suddenly  from  behind  me,  and  screamed  as  it  flapped 
across  my  path ; that,  too,  went  rapidly  away  : and  with 
a smile,  at  what  I deemed  my  own  fancy,  I renewed  rny 
journey.  I soon  came  to  the  precipitous  descent  I have 
before  mentioned ; I dismounted,  for  safety,  from  my 
drooping  and  jaded  horse,  and  led  him  down  the  hill.  At 
a distance  beyond  I saw  something  dark  moving  on  the 
grass  which  bordered  the  road  ; as  I advanced,  it  started 
forth  from  the  shadow,  and  fled  rapidly  before  me,  in  the 
moonshine  — it  was  a riderless  horse.  A chilling  fore- 
boding seized  me  : I looked  round  for  some  weapon,  such 
as  the  hedge  might  afford  ; and  finding  a strong  stick  of 
tolerable  weight  and  thickness,  I proceeded  more  cau- 
tiously, but  more  fearlessly  than  before.  As  I wound  down 
the  hill,  the  moonlight  fell  full  upon  the  remarkable  and 
^onely  tree  I had  observed  in  the  morning.  Bare,  wan, 
and  giant-like,  as  it  rose  amidst  the  surrounding  waste,  it 


80 


PELHAM;  OR, 


borrowed  even  a more  startling  and  ghostly  appearance 
from  the  cold  and  lifeless  moonbeams  which  fell  around 
and  upon  it  like  a shroud.  The  retreating  steed  I had 
driven  before  me,  paused  by  this  tree.  I hastened  my 
steps,  as  if  by  an  involuntary  impulse,  as  well  as  the  en- 
feebled animal  I was  leading  would  allow  me,  and  disco- 
vered a horseman  galloping  across  the  waste  at  full  speed. 
The  ground  over  which  he  passed  was  steeped  in  the 
moonshine,  and  I saw  the  long  and  disguising  cloak,  in 
which  he  was  enveloped,  as  clearly  as  by  the  light  of  day. 
I paused  : and  as  I w^as  following  him  with  my  looks,  my 
eye  fell  upon  some  obscure  object  by  the  left  side  of  the 
pool.  I threw  my  horse’s  rein  over  the  hedge,  and  firmly 
grasping  my  stick,  hastened  to  the  spot.  As  I approached 
the  object,  I perceived  that  it  was  a human  figure  ; it  was 
lying  still  and  motionless  : the  limbs  were  half  immersed 
in  the  water  — the  face  was  turned  upwards  — the  side 
and  throat  were  wet  with  a deep  red  stain  — it  was  of 
blood  : the  thin,  dark  hairs  of  the  head  were  clotted 
together  over  a frightful  and  disfiguring  contusion.  1 
bent  over  the  face  in  a shuddering  and  freezing  silence. 
It  was  the  countenance  of  Sir  John  Tyrrell  1 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


81 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

Marry,  he  was  dead  — 

And  the  right  valiant  Banqno  walked  too  late: 

Whom  you  may  say,  if  it  please  you,  Fleance  killed, 

For  Fleance  fled ! — Macbeth. 

It  is  a fearful  tiling,  even  to  the  hardiest  nerves,  to  find 
v/urselves  suddenly  alone  with  the.  dead.  How  much  more 
!so,  if  we  have,  but  a breathing  interval  before,  moved  and 
conversed  with  the  warm  and  living  likeness  of  the  mo- 
tionless clay  before  us  ! 

And  this  was  the  man  from  whom  I had  parted  in 
coldness  — almost  in  anger  — at  a word  — a breath  ! I 
took  up  the  heavy  hand — it  fell  from  my  grasp  ; and  as 
it  did  so,  I thought  a change  passed  over  the  livid  coun- 
tenance. I was  deceived  ; it  was  but  a light  cloud  flitting 
over  the  moon;  — it  rolled  away,  and  the  placid  and 
guiltless  light  shone  over  that  scene  of  dread  and  blood, 
making  more  wild  and  chilling  the  eternal  contrast  of  earth 
and  heaven — man  and  his  Maker — passion  and  immu- 
tability— death  and  eternal  life. 

But  that  was  not  a moment  for  reflection  — a thousan  J 
thoughts  hurried  upon*  me,  and  departed  as  swift  and 
confusedly  as  they  came.  My  mind  seemed  a jarring  and 
benighted  chaos  of  the  faculties  which  were  its  elements  ; 
and  I had  stood  several  minutes  over  the  corpse  before, 
by  a vigorous  effort,  I shook  off  the  stupor  that  possessed 


82  PELHAM;  oil* 

me.  and  began  to  think  of  the  course  that  it  now  behoved 
me  to  pursue. 

The  house  I had  noted  in  the  morning  was,  I knew, 
within  a few  minutes’  walk  of  the  spot ; but  it  belonged 
to  Dawson,  upon  whom  the  first  weight  of  my  suspicions 
rested.  I called  to  mind  the  disreputable  character  of 
that  man,  and  the  still  more  daring  and  hardened  one  of 
his  companion  Thornton.  I remembered  the  reluctance 
of  the  deceased  to  accompany  them,  and  the  well-grounded 
reason  he  assigned  ; and,  my  suspicions  amounting  to 
certainty,  I resolved  rather  to  proceed  to  Chester  Park, 
and  there  give  the  alarm,  than  to  run  the  unnecessary  risk 
of  interrupting  the  murderers  in  the  very  lair  of  their 
retreat.  And  yet,  thought  I,  as  I turned  slowly  away, 
how  if  they  were  the  villains,  is  the  appearance  and  flight 
of  the  disguised  horseman  to  be  accounted  for  ? 

Then  flashed  upon  my  recollection  all  that  Tyrrell  had 
said  of  the  dogged  pursuit  of  that  mysterious  person,  and 
the  circumstance  of  his  having  passed  me  upon  the  road 
so  immediately  after  Tyrrell  had  quitted  me.  These  re- 
flections (associated  with  a name  that  I did  not  dare 
breathe  even  to  myself,  although  I could  not  suppress  a 
suspicion  which  accounted  at  once  for  the  pursuit,  and 
even  for  the  deed,)  made  me  waver  in,  and  almost  renounce, 
my  former  condemnation  of  Thornton  and  his  friend  : and 
by  the  time  I reached  the  white  gate  and  dwarfish  avenue 
which  led  to  Dawson’s  house,  I resolved,  at  all  events,  to 
halt  at  the  solitary  mansion,  and  mark  the  effect  my  in- 
formation would  cause. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  S5 

A momentary  fear  for  my  own  safety  came  across  me, 
but  was  as  instantly  dismissed  : — for  even  supposing  the 
friends  were  guilty,  still  it  would  be  no  object  to  them  to 
extend  their  remorseless  villany  to  me ; and  I knew  that  I 
could  sufficiently  command  my  own  thoughts  to  prevent 
any  suspicion  I might  form,  from  mounting  to  my  counte- 
nance, or  discovering  itself  in  my  manner. 

There  was  a light  in  the  upper  story  ; it  burned  still 
and  motionless.  How  holy  seemed  the  tranquillity  of  life, 
contrasted  with  the  forced  and  fearful  silence  of  the  death 
scene  I had  just  witnessed  1 I rang  twice  at  the  door — > 
no  one  came  to  answer  my  summons,  but  the  light  in  the 
upper  wdndow  moved  hurriedly  to  and  fro. 

They  are  coming,’^  said  I to  myself.  No  such  thing 
— the  casement  above  was  opened  — I looked  up,  and 
discovered,  to  my  infinite  comfort  and  delight,  a blunder- 
buss protruded  eight  inches  out  of  the  window  in  a direct 
line  with  my  head  ; I receded  close  to  the  wall  with  no 
common  precipitation. 

“ Get  away,  you  rascal,’^  said  a gruff,  but  trembling 
voice,  ‘‘or  I’ll  blow  your  brains  out.’^ 

My  good  sir,”  I replied,  still  keeping  my  situation, 
“ I come  on  urgent  business,  either  to  Mr.  Thornton  or 
Mr.  Dawson;  and  you  had  better,  therefore,  if  the  delay 
is  not  very  inconvenient,  defer  the  honor  you  offer  me,  till 
I have  delivered  my  message.” 

“ Master  and  ’Squire  Thornton  arc  not  returned  from 
Newmarket,  and  we  cannot  let  any  one  in  till  they  come 
home,”  replied  the  voice,  in  a tone  somewhat  mollified  by 


84 


PELHAM;  OR, 


my  rational  remonstrance  ; and  while  I was  deliberating 
what  rejoinder  to  make,  a rough,  red  head,  like  Liston’s 
in  a farce,  poked  itself  cautiously  out  under  cover  of  the 
blunderbuss,  and  seemed  to  reconnoitre  my  horse  and 
myself.  Presently  another  head,  but  attired  in  the  more 
civilized  gear  of  a cap  and  flowers,  peeped  over  the  first 
person’s  left  shoulder ; the  view  appeared  to  reassure 
them  both. 

“ Sir,’’  said  the  female,  “ my  husband  and  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton are  not  returned  ; and  we  have  been  so  much  alarmed 
of  late,  by  an  attack  on  the  house,  that  I cannot  admit 
any  one  till  their  return.” 

Madam,”  I replied,  reverently  dofiQng  my  hat,  “ I do 
not  like  to  alarm  you  by  mentioning  the  information  I 
should  have  given  to  Mr.  Dawson  ; only  oblige  me  by 
telling  them,  on  their  return,  to  look  beside  the  pool  on 
the  Common  ; they  will  then  do  as  best  pleases  them.” 

Upon  this  speech,  which  certainly  was  of  no  agreeable 
tendency,  the  blunderbuss  palpitated  so  violently,  that  I 
thought  it  highly  imprudent  to  tarry  any  longer  in  so 
perilous  a vicinity  ; accordingly,  I made  the  best  of  my 
way  out  of  the  avenue,  and  once  more  resumed  my  road 
to  Chester  Park. 

I arrived  there  at  length ; the  gentlemen  were  still  in 
the  dining-room,  I sent  out  for  Lord  Chester,  and  com 
municated  the  scene  I had  witnessed,  and  the  cause  of 
my  delay. 

What ! Brown  Bob  lamed  ? ” said  he,  and  Tyrrell  — 
poor  — poor  fellow,  how  shocking  1 We  must  send  in 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


85 


stantly.  Here,  John  ! Tom  ! Wilson  1 ’’  and  his  lordship 
shouted  and  rang  the  bell  in  an  indescribable  agitation. 

The  under  butler  appeared,  and  Lord  Chester  began 

— “ My  head  groom  — Sir  John  Tyrrell  is  muidered — - 
violent  sprain  in  off  leg  — send  lights  with  Mr.  Pelham 

— poor  gentleman  — an  express  instantly  to  Dr.  Physicon 

— Mr  Pelham  will  tell  you  all  — Brown  Bob  — his  throat 
cut  from  ear  to  ear  — what  shall  be  done  ? and  with  this 
coherent  and  explanatory  harangue,  the  marquise  sank 
down  in  his  chair  in  a sort  of  hysteric. 

The  under  butler  looked  at  him  in  suspicious  bewilder- 
ment. “ Come,’^  said  I,  ‘‘  I will  explain  what  his  lord- 
ship  means  ; ” and,  taking  the  man  out  of  the  room,  I 
gave  him,  in  brief,  the  necessary  particulars.  I ordered  a 
fresh  horse  for  myself,  and  four  horsemen  to  accompany 
me.  While  these  were  preparing,  the  news  was  rapidly 
spreading,  and  I was  soon  surrounded  by  the  whole  house. 
Many  of  the  gentlemen  wished  to  accompany  me  ; and 
Lord  Chester,  who  had  at  last  recovered  from  his  stupor, 
insisted  upon  heading  the  search.  We  set  off,  to  the 
number  of  fourteen,  and  soon  arrived  at  Dawson^s  house  : 
the  light  in  the  upper  room  was  still  burning.  We  rang, 
and  after  a brief  pause,  Thornton  himself  opened  the  door 
to  us.  He  looked  pale  and  agitated. 

How  shocking  ! ” he  said  directly — we  are  only  just 
returned  from  the  spot.’’ 

“Accompany  us,  Mr.  Thornton,”  said  I,  sternly,  and 
fixing  my  eye  upon  him. 

“ Certainly,”  was  his  immediate  answer,  without  testi- 

IL— 8 


86 


PELHAM;  OR, 


fying  any  confusion — I will  fetch  my  hat.’^  He  went 
into  the  house  for  a moment. 

Do  you  suspect  these  people  whispered  Lord  Chester. 

'^Not  suspect/’  said  I,  but  doubV^ 

We  proceeded  down  the  avenue  : Where  is  Mr.  Daw- 
son ? ” said  I to  Thornton. 

Oh,  within  1 ” answered  Thornton.  “ Shall  I fetch 
him  ? ” 

Do,”  was  my  brief  reply. 

Thornton  was  absent  some  minutes ; when  he  reap- 
peared, Dawson  was  following  him.  Poor  fellow,”  said 
he  to  me  in  a low  tone  — he  was  so  shocked  by  the  sight, 
that  he  is  still  all  in  a panic ; besides,  as  you  will  see,  he 
is  half  drunk  still.” 

I made  no  answer,  but  looked  narrowly  at  Dawson  ; he 
was  evidently,  as  Thornton  said,  greatly  intoxicated  ; his 
eyes  swam,  and  his  feet  staggered  as  he  approached  us ; 
yet,  through  all  the  natural  effects  of  drunkenness,  he 
seemed  nervous  and  frightened.  This,  however,  might  be 
the  natural  (and  consequently  innocent)  effect  of  the  mere 
sight  of  an  object  so  full  of  horror ; and,  accordingly,  I 
laid  little  stress  upon  it. 

We  reached  the  fatal  spot:  the  body  seemed  perfectly 
unmoved.  ‘"Why,”  said  I,  apart  to  Thornton,  while  all 
the  rest  were  crowding  fearfully  round  the  corpse — why 
did  you  not  take  the  body  within  ? ” 

“ I was  going  to  return  here  with  our  servant  for  that 
purpose,”  answered  the  gambler;  “for  poor  Dawson  was 
both  too  drunk  and  too  nervous  to  give  me  any  assistance  ” 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


81 


*^Aiid  how  came  it/’  I rejoined,  eyeing  him  searchingly, 
that  you  and  your  friend  had  not  returned  home  when  I 
called  there,  although  you  had  both  long  since  passed  me 
on  the  road,  and  I had  never  overtaken  you  ? ” 

Thornton,  without  any  hesitation,  replied  — Because, 
di  ring  the  violence  of  the  shower,  we  cut  across  the  fields 
to  an  old  shed,  which  we  recollected,  and  we  remained 
there  till  the  rain  had  ceased.” 

“ They  are  probably  innocent,”  thought  I — and  I turned 
to  look  once  more  at  the  body,  which  our  companions  had 
now  raised.  There  was  upon  the  head  a strong  contusion, 
as  if  inflicted  by  some  blunt  and  heavy  instrument.  The 
fingers  of  the  right  hand  were  deeply  gashed,  and  one  of 
them  almost  dissevered  ; the  unfortunate  man  had,  in  all 
probability,  grasped  the  sharp  weapon  from  which  his  other 
wounds  proceeded ; these  were  one  wide  cut  along  the 
throat,  and  another  in  the  side  ; either  of  them  would  have 
occasioned  his  death. 

In  loosening  the  clothes,  another  wound  was  discovered, 
but  apparently  of  a less  fatal  nature  ; and  in  lifting  the  body, 
the  broken  blade  of  a long  sharp  instrument,  like  a case- 
knife,  was  discovered.  It  was  the  opinion  of  the  surgeon, 
who  afterwards  examined  the  body,  that  the  blade  had 
been  broken  by  coming  in  contact  with  one  of  the  rib-bones ; 
and  it  was  by  this  that  he  accounted  for  the  slightness  of 
the  last-mentioned  wound.  I looked  carefully  among  the 
fern  and  long  grass,  to  see  if  I could  discover  any  other 
token  of  the  murderer : Thornton  assisted  me.  At  the 
2d 


PELHAM;  OR, 


distance  of  some  feet  from  the  body,  I thought  I perceived 
something  glitter.  I hastened  to  the  place,  and  picked  up 
a miniature.  I was  just  going  to  cry  out,  when  Thornton 
whispered  — “ Hush  ! I know  the  picture  ; it  is  as  I sus- 
pected ! 

An  icy  thrill  ran  through  my  very  heart.  With  a des- 
perate but  trembling  hand,  I cleansed  from  the  picture 
the  blood,  in  which,  notwithstanding  its  distance  from  the 
corpse,  the  greater  part  of  it  was  bathed.  I looked  upon 
the  features;  they  were  those  of  a young  and  singularly 
beautiful  female.  I recognized  them  not : I turned  to  the 
other  side  of  the  miniature  ; upon  it  were  braided  two  locks 
of  hair — one  was  the  long,  dark  ringlet  of  a woman,  the 
other  was  of  a light  auburn.  Beneath  were  four  letters. 
I looked  eagerly  at  them.  ^‘My  eyes  are  dim,’’  said  I, 
in  a low  tone  to  Thornton,  “I  cannot  trace  the  initials.” 

But  I can,”  replied  he,  in  the  same  whispered  key,  but 
with  a savage  exultation,  which  made  my  heart  stand  still : 
'Hhey  are  G.  D.,  B.  G.  ; they  are  the  initials  of  Gertrude 
Douglas  and  Reginald  Glanville,’’^ 

I looked  up  at  the  speaker  — our  eyes  met  — I grasped 
his  hand  vehemently.  He  understood  me.  ‘‘  Put  it  up,” 
said  he  ; we  will  keep  the  secret.”  All  this,  so  long  in 
the  recital,  passed  in  the  rapidity  of  a moment. 

Have  you  found  anything  there,  Pelham  ? ” shouted 
one  of  our  companions. 

‘*No,”  cried  I,  thrusting  the  miniature  in  my  bosom, 
and  turning  unconcernedly  away. 

^ We  carried  the  corpse  to  Dawson’s  house.  The  poor 


ADVffNTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  89 

wife  was  in  fits.  We  heard  her  scream  as  we  laid  the  body 
upon  a table  in  the  parlor. 

Wliat  more  can  be  done  ?”  said  Lord  Chester. 

Nothing,”  was  the  general  answer.  No  excitement 
makes  people  insensible  to  the  chance  of  catching  cold  I 
^‘Let  us  go  home,  then,  and  send  to  the  nearest  magis- 
trate,” exclaimed  our  host:  and  this  proposal  required  no 
repetition. 

On  our  way,  Chester  said  to  me,  “ That  fellow  Dawson 
looked  devilish  uneasy  — don’t  you  still  suspect  him  and 
his  friend  ? ” 

do  notP^  answered  I,  emphatically. 


CHAPTER  LXYI. 

And  now  I’m  in  the  world  alone. 
****** 

But  why  for  others  should  I groan, 

When  none  will  sigh  for  me  ? — Byron. 

The  whole  country  was  in  confusion  at  the  news  of  the 
murder.  All  the  myrmidons  of  justice  were  employed  in 
the  most  active  research  for  the  murderers.  Some  few 
persons  wore  taken  up  on  suspicion,  but  were  as  instantly 
discharged.  Thornton  and  Dawson  underwent  a long 
and  rigorous  examination  ; but  no  single  tittle  of  evidence 
against  them  appeared  ; they  were  consequently  dismissed. 

8* 


00 


PELHAM;  OR, 


The  onjy  suspicious  circumstance  against  them,  was  their 
delay  on  the  road  : but  the  cause  given,  the  same  as 
Thornton  had  at  first  assigned  to  me,  was  probable  and 
natural.  The  shed  was  indicated,  and,  as  if  to  confirm 
Thornton’s  account,  a glove  belonging  to  that  person  was 
found  there.  To  crown  all,  my  own  evidence,  in  which  I 
was  constrained  to  mention  the  circumstance  of  the  muffled 
horseman  having  passed  me  on  the  road,  and  being  found 
by  me  on  the  spot  itself,  threw  the  whole  weight  of  suspi- 
cion upon  that  man,  whoever  he  might  be. 

All  attempts,  however,  to  discover  him  were  in  vain. 
It  was  ascertained  that  a man,  muffled  in  a cloak,  was  seen 
at  Newmarket,  but  not  remarkably  observed  ; it  was  also 
discovered,  that  a person  so  habited  had  put  up  a grey 
horse  to  bait  in  one  of  the  inns  at  Newmarket ; but  in  the 
throng  of  strangers  neither  the  horse  nor  its  owner  had 
drawn  down  any  particular  remark. 

On  further  inquiry,  testimony  differed  ; four  or  five 
men,  in  cloaks,  +fad  left  their  horses  at  the  stables  ; one 
ostler  changed  the  color  of  the  steed  to  brown,  a second 
to  black,  a third  deposed  that  the  gentleman  was  remark- 
ably tall,  and  the  waiter  swore  solemnly  he  had  given  a 
glass  of  brandy  and  water  to  an  unked-lookmg  gentleman, 
in  a cloak,  who  was  remarkably  short.  In  fine,  no  mate- 
rial point  could  be  proved,  and  though  the  officers  were 
still  employed  in  active  search,  they  could  trace  nothing 
that  promised  a speedy  discovery. 

As  for  myself,  as  soon  as  I decently  could,  I left  Chester 
Park,  with  a most  satisfactory  despatch  in  my  pocket, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


91 


from  its  possessor  to  Lord  Dawton,  and  found  myself  once 
more  on  the  road  to  London. 

A1  as  ! how  different  were  my  thoughts,  how  changed 
the  temper  of  my  mind,  since  I had  last  travelled  that 
road!  Then  I was  full  of  hope,  energy,  ambition  — of 
interest  for  Reginald  Glanville  — of  adoration  for  his 
sister ; and  now,  I leaned  back  listless  and  dispirited, 
without  a single  feeling  to  gladden  the  restless  and  feverish 
despair  which,  ever  since  that  night,  had  possessed  me  I 
What  was  ambition  henceforth  to  me  ? The  most  selfish 
amongst  us  must  have  some  human  being  to  whom  to  refer 
— with  whom  to  connect,  to  associate,  to  treasure,  the 
triumphs  and  gratifications  of  self.  Where  now  for  my 
heart  was  such  a being  ? My  earliest  friend,  for  whom 
my  esteem  was  the  greater  for  his  sorrows,  my  interest  the 
keener  for  his  mystery,  Reginald  Glanville,  was  a mur- 
derer ! a dastardly,  a barbarous  felon,  whom  the  chance 
of  an  instant  might  convict  I — and  she  — she,  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  I had  ever  really  loved  — who  had 
ever  pierced  the  thousand  folds  of  my  ambitious  and 
scheming  heart  — she  was  the  sister  of  the  assassin  ! 

Then  came  over  my  mind  the  savage  and  exulting  eye 
of  Thornton,  when  it  read  the  damning  record  of  Glan- 
ville's  guilt ; and  in  spite  of  my  horror  at  the  crime  of  my 
former  friend,  I trembled  for  his  safety  ; nor  was  I satisfied 
with  myself  at  my  prevarication  as  a witness.  It  is  true 
that  I had  told  the  truth,  but  I had  not  told  all  the  truth  ; 
and  my  heart  swelled  proudly  and  bitterly  against  the 
miniature  which  I still  concealed  in  my  bosom. 


92 


PELHAM:  OK 


To  save  a criminal,  in  whose  safety  I was  selfislily  con- 
cerned, I felt  that  I had  tampered  with  my  honor,  paltered 
with  the  truth,  and  broken  what  justice,  not  over-harshly, 
deemed  a peremptory  and  inviolable  duty. 

It  was  with  a heightened  pulse,  and  a burning  cheek, 
that  I entered  London  ; before  midnight  I was  in  a high 
fever ; they  sent  for  the  vultures  of  physic  — I was  bled 
copiously  — I was  kept  quiet  in  bed  for  six  days  ; at  the 
end  of  that  time,  my  constitution  and  youth  restored  me. 
I took  up  one  of  the  newspapers  listlessly  ; Glanville’s 
name  struck  me  ; I read  the  paragraph  which  contained  it 
— it  was  a high-flown  and  fustian  panegyric  on  his  genius 
and  promise.  I turned  to  another  column  : it  contained 
a long  speech  he  had  the  night  before  made  in  the  House 
of  Commons. 

“ Can  such  things  be  ? ’’  thought  I ; yea,  and  thereby 
hangs  a secret  and  an  anomaly  in  the  human  heart.  A 
man  may  commit  the  greatest  of  crimes,  and  (if  no  other 
succeed  to  it)  it  changes  not  the  current  of  his  being  ; to 
all  the  world  — to  all  intents  — for  all  objects,  he  may  be 
the  same.  He  may  equally  serve  his  country  — equally 
benefit  his  friends  — be  generous  — brave  — benevolent, 
all  that  he  was  before.  One  crime,  however  heinous, 
does  not  necessarily  cause  a revolution  in  the  system — - 
it  is  only  the  perpetual  course  of  sins,  vices,  follies,  however 
insignificant  they  may  seem,  which  alters  the  nature  and 
hardens  the  heart. 

My  mother  was  out  of  town  when  I returned  there. 
They  had  written  to  her  during  my  illness,  and  while  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


93 


was  yet  musing  over  the  day^s  journal,  a letter  from  her 
was  put  into  my  hand.  I transcribe  it. 

DEAREST  HeNRY, 

How  dreadfully  uneasy  I am  about  you  ! write  to  me 
directly.  I would  come  to  town  myself,  but  am  staying 
with  dear  Lady  Dawton,  who  will  not  hear  of  my  going ; 
and  I cannot  off'end  her  for  your  sake.  By-ihe-bye,  why 
have  you  not  called  upon  Lord  Dawton  ? but,  I forgot, 
you  have  been  ill.  My  dear,  dear  child,  I am  wretched 
about  you,  and  how  pale  your  illness  whll  make  you  look  ! 
just,  too,  as  the  best  part  of  the  season  is  coming  on. 
How  unlucky  ! Pray,  don’t  wear  a black  cravat  w^hen 
you  next  call  on  Lady  Poseville  ; but  choose  a very  fine 
baptiste  one  — it  will  make  you  look  rather  delicate  than 
ill.  What  physician  do  you  have  ? I hope,  in  God,  that 
it  is  Sir  Henry  Halford.  I shall  be  too  miserable  if  it  is 
not.  I am  sure  no  one  can  conceive  the  anguish  I suft'er. 
Your  father,  too,  poor  man,  has  been  laid  up  with  the 
gout  for  the  last  three  days.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  my 
dearest  child,  and  get  some  light  books  to  entertain  you  : 
but,  pray,  as  soon  as  you  are  well,  do  go  to  Lord  Daw- 
ton’s — he  is  dying  to  see  you  ; but  be  sure  not  to  catch 
cold.  How  did  you  like  Lady  Chester  ? Pray  take  the 
greatest  care  of  yourself,  and  write  soon  to 
**  Your  wretched,  and  most 

'‘Affectionate  mother, 

p p >> 

“ P.  S.  How  dreadfully  shocking  about  that  poor  Sir 
John  Tyrrell!’^ 


94 


PELHAM;  OR 


T tossed  the  letter  from  me.  Heaven  pardon  me  if  thf 
misanthropy  of  my  mood  made  me  less  grateful  for  the 
maternal  solicitude  than  I should  otherwise  have  been. 

I took  up  one  of  the  numerous  books  with  which  my 
table  was  covered  ; it  was  a worldly  work  of  one  of  the 
Freni  h reasoners  ; it  gave  a new  turn  to  my  thoughts  — 
my  mind  reverted  to  its  former  projects  of  ambition.  Who 
does  not  know  what  active  citizens  private  misfortune 
makes  us  ? The  public  is  like  the  pools  of  Bethesda  — we 
all  hasten  there,  to  plunge  in  and  rid  ourselves  of  our 
afflictions. 

I drew  my  portfolio  to  me,  and  wrote  to  Lord  DawTon. 
Three  hours  after  I had  sent  the  note,  he  called  upon  me 
I gave  him  Lord  Chester’s  letter,  but  he  had  already  re 
ceived  from  that  nobleman  a notification  of  my  success. 
He  w^as  profuse  in  his  compliments  and  thanks. 

*^And,  do  you  know,”  added  the  statesman,  “ that  you 
have  quite  made  a conquest  of  Lord  Guloseton  ? He 
speaks  of  you  publicly  in  the  highest  terms : I wish  we 
could  get  him  and  his  votes.  We  must  be  strengthened, 
my  dear  Pelham  ; everything  depends  on  the  crisis.” 

*‘Are  you  certain  of  the  cabinet  ? ” I asked. 

“Yes  ; it  is  not  yet  publicly  announced,  but  it  is  fully 
known  amongst  us,  who  comes  in,  and  who  stays  out.  I 
am  to  have  Ah e place  of .” 

“ I congratulate  your  lordship  from  my  heart.  What 
post  do  you  design  for  me  ? ” 

Lord  Dawtpn  changed  countenance.  “Why  — really 
— Pelham,  we  have  not  yet  filled  up  the  lesser  appoint' 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


95 


ments,  but  you  shall  be  well  remembered  — well^  my  dear 
Pelham  — be  sure  of  it.” 

I looked  at  the  noble  speaker  with  a glance  which,  I 
flatter  myself,  is  peculiar  to  me.  Is,  thought  I,  the  embryo 
minister  playing  upon  me  as  upon  one  of  his  dependent 
tools  ? Let  him  beware  ! The  anger  of  the  moment  passed 
F.way. 

“Lord  Dawton,”  said  I,  “one  word,  and  I have  done 
discussing  my  claims  for  the  present.  Do  you  mean  to 
place  me  in  Parliament  as  soon  as  you  are  in  the  cabinet  ? 
What  else  you  intend  for  me,  I question  not.” 

“ Yes,  assuredly,  Pelham.  How  can  you  doubt  it  ? ” 

“Enough  ! — and  now  read  this  letter  from  France.” 

Two  days  after  my  interview  with  Lord  Dawton,  as  I 
was  riding  leisurely  through  the  Green  Park,  in  no  very 
bright  and  social  mood,  one  of  the  favored  carriages,  whose 
owners  are  permitted  to  say,  “ Hie  iter  est  nobis, over- 
took me.  A sweet  voice  ordered  the  coachman  to  stop, 
and  then  addressed  itself  to  me. 

“ What ! the  hero  of  Chester  Park  returned,  without 
having  once  narrated  his  adventures  to  me?” 

“Beautiful  Lady  Roseville,”  said  I,  “ I plead  guilty  of 
negligence  — not  treason.  I forgot,  it  is  true,  to  appear 
before  you,  but  I forget  not  the  devotion  of  my  duty  now 
that  I behold  you.  Command,  and  I obey.” 

“ See,  Ellen,”  said  Lady  Roseville,  turning  to  a bending 
and  blushing  countenance  beside  her,  which  I then  first 


PELHAM;  OR, 


9n 

perceived  — *^see  what  it  is  to  be  a knight-errant;  ever 
his  language  is  worthy  of  Amadis  of  Gaul  — but  — (again 
addressing  me)  your  adventures  are  really  too  shocking  a 
subject  to  treat  lightly.  We  lay  our  serious  orders  on  you 
to  come  to  our  castle  this  night ; we  shall  be  alone.’’ 

Willingly  shall  I repair  to  your  bower,  fayre  ladic  ; 
but  tell  me,  I beseech  you,  how  many  persons  are  signified 
in  the  word  ^alone?’” 

Why,”  answered  Lady  Roseville,  I fear  we  way  have 
a few  people  with  us  ; but  I think,  Ellen,  we  may  promise 
our  chevalier  that  the  number  shall  not  exceed  twelve.” 

I bowed  and  rode  on.  What  worlds  would  I not  have 
given  to  have  touched  the  hand  of  the  countess’s  compan- 
ion, though  only  for  an  instant.  But  — and  that  fearful 
hut,  chilled  me,  like  an  icebolt.  I put  spurs  to  my  horse, 
and  dashed  fiercely  onwards.  There  was  rather  a high 
wind  stirring,  and  I bent  my  face  from  it,  so  as  scarcely 
to  see  the  course  of  my  spirited  and  impatient  horse. 

What  ho,  sir  I — what  ho  ! ” cried  a shrill  voice  — “ for 
Heaven’s  sake,  don’t  ride  over  me  before  dinner,  whatever 
you  do  after  it  ! ” 

I pulled  up.  *‘Ah,  Lord  Guloseton  ! how  happy  I am 
to  see  you  ; pray  forgive  my  blindness,  and  my  horse’s 
stupidity.” 

“ ’Tis  an  ill  wind,”  answered  the  noble  gourmand,  ‘‘  which 
blows  nobody  good  ; — an  excellent  proverb,  the  veracity 
of  which  is  daily  attested  ; for  however  unpleasant  a keen 
wind  may  be,  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  being  a marvellous 
whetter  of  that  greatest  of  Heaven’s  blessings  — an  appe- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


91 


Ute.  Little,  however,  did  I expect,  that  besides  blowing 
me  a relish  for  my  saute  de  foie  gras,  it  would  also  blow 
me  one  who  might,  probably,  be  a partaker  of  my  enjoy- 
ment. Honor  me  with  your  company  at  dinner  to-day.” 

What  saloon  will  you  dine  in,  my  Lord  Lucullus  ? ” 
said  I,  in  allusion  to  the  custom  of  the  epicure,  by  whose 
name  I addressed  him. 

The  saloon  of  Diana,”  replied  Guloseton  — for  she 
must  certainly  have  shot  the  fine  buck  of  which  Lord  H. 
sent  me  the  haunch  that  we  shall  have  to-day.  It  is  the 
true  old  Meynell  breed.  I ask  you  not  to  meet  Mr.  So- 
and-so,  and  Lord  What-d’ye-call-him  : I ask  you  to  meet 
a saute  de  foie  gras,  and  a haunch  of  venison.” 

I will  most  certainly  pay  them  my  respects.  Never 
did  I know  before  how  far  things  were  better  company 
than  persons.  Your  lordship  has  taught  me  that  great 
truth.” 

‘‘  God  bless  me  ! ” cried  Guloseton,  with  an  air  of  vex- 
ation, here  comes  the  Duke  of  Stilton,  a horrid  person, 
who  told  me  the  other  day,  at  my  petit  diner,  when  I 
apologized  to  him  for  some  strange  error  of  my  artiste^s, 
by  which  common  vinegar  had  been  substituted  for  Chili 
— who  told  me  — what  think  you  he  told  me  ? You  cannot 
guess, — he  told  me,  forsooth,  that  he  did  not  care  what  he 
ate ; and,  for  his  part,  he  could  make  a very  good  dinner  oS 
a beef-steak  ! Why  the  deuce,  then,  did  he  come  and  dine 
with  me  P Could  he  have  said  anything  more  cutting? 
Imagine  my  indignation,  when  I looked  round  my  table 


IL— 9 


98  ^ PELHAM;OR, 

and  <5aw  so  many  good  things  thrown  away  upon  such  an 
idiut.’^ 

Scarcely  was  the  last  word  out  of  the  gourmand’s  mouth 
before  the  noble  personage  so  designated  joined  us.  It 
amused  me  to  see  Guloseton’s  contempt  (which  he  scarcely 
took  the  pains  to  suppress)  of  a person  whom  all  Europe 
honored,  and  his  evident  weariness  of  a companion,  whose 
society  every  one  else  would  have  coveted  as  the  summum 
bonum  of  worldly  distinction.  As  for  me,  feeling  anything 
but  social,  I soon  left  the  ill-matched  pair,  and  rode  into 
the  other  park. 

Just  as  I entered  it,  I perceived,  on  a dull,  yet  cross- 
looking pony,  Mr.  W orm  wood,  of  bitter  memory.  Although 
we  had  not  met  since  our  mutual  sojourn  at  Sir  Lionel 
Garrett’s,  and  were  then  upon  very  cool  terms  of  acquaint- 
ance, he  seemed  resolved  to  recognize  and  claim  me. 

“My  dear  sir,”  said  he,  with  a ghastly  smile,  “I  am 
rejoiced  once  more  to  see  you  ; bless  me,  how  pale  you 
look  ! I heard  you  had  been  very  ill.  Pray,  have  you 
been  yet  to  that  man  who  professes  to  cure  consumption 
in  the  worst  stages  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  I,  he  read  me  two  or  three  letters  ot 
reference  from  the  patients  he  had  cured.  His  last,  he 
said,  was  a gentleman  very  far  gone  — a Mr.  Wormwood.” 

“ Oh,  you  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,”  said  the  cynic, 
coldly  — “ but  pray  do  tell  me  about  that  horrid  affair  at 
Chester  Park.  How  disagreeable  it  must  have  been  to 
you  to  be  taken  up  on  suspicion  of  the  murder  ! ” 

Sir,”  said  I,  haughtily,  “what  do  you  mean  ? ” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


99 


Oh,  you  were  not  — Wer’n’t  you?  Well,  I always 
thought  it  unlikely  ; but  every  one  says  so ” 

“My  dear  sir,’^  I rejoined,  “how  long  is  it  since  you 
have  minded  what  every  body  says  ? If  I were  so  foolish, 
I should  not  be  riding  with  you  now  ; but  / have  always 
said,  in  contradiction  to  every  body,  and  even  in  spite  of 
being  universally  laughed  at  for  my  singular  opinion,  that 
you,  my  dear  Mr.  Wormwood,  were  by  no  means  silly,  nor 
ignorant,  nor  insolent,  nor  intrusive  ; that  you  were,  on  the 
contrary,  a very  decent  author,  and  a very  good  sort  of 
man  ; and  that  you  were  so  benevolent,  that  you  daily 
granted,  to  some  one  or  other,  the  greatest  happiness  in 
your  power : it  is  a happiness,  I am  now  about  to  enjoy, 
and  it  consists  in  wishing  you  ‘ good-hye  P And  without 
waiting  for  Mr.  Wormwood’s  answer,  I gave  the  rein  to 
my  horse,  and  was  soon  lost  among  the  crowd,  which  had 
now  begun  to  assemble. 

Hyde  Park  is  a stupid  place.  The  English  of  the  fash- 
ionable world  make  business  an  enjoyment,  and  enjoyment 
a business  : they  are  born  without  a smile  ; they  rove  about 
public  places  like  so  many  easterly  winds  — cold,  sharp, 
and  cutting ; or  like  a group  of  fogs  on  a frosty  day,  sent 
out  of  his  hall  by  Boreas,  for  the  express  purpose  of  looking 
black  at  one  another.  When  they  ask  you,  “ how  you  do,’^ 
you  would  think  they  were  measuring  the  length  of  your 
coffin.  They  are  ever,  it  is  true,  laboring  to  be  agree- 
able ; but  they  are  like  Sisyphus,  the  stone  they  roll  up 
the  hill  with  so  much  toil,  runs  down  again,  and  hits  you 
a thump  on  the  legs.  They  are  sometimes  polite^  but 


100 


PELHAM;  OR 


invariably  uncivil  \ their  warmth  is  always  artificial  — 
their  cold  never;  they  are  stiff  without  dignity,  and  cringing 
without  manners.  They  offer  you  an  affront,  and  call  it 
plain  truth ; ” they  wound  your  feelings,  and  tell  you  it 
is  manly  ‘^to  speak  their  minds  at  the  same  time,  while 
they  have  neglected  all  the  graces  and  charities  of  artifice, 
they  have  adopted  all  its  falsehood  and  deceit.  While 
they  profess  to  abhor  servility,  they  adulate  the  peerage  ; 
while  they  tell  you  they  care  not  a rush  for  the  minister, 
they  move  heaven  and  earth  for  an  invitation  from  the 
minister’s  wife.  Then  their  amusements!  — the  heat  — 
the  dust  — the  sameness  — the  slowness,  of  that  odious 
park  in  the  morning  ! and  the  same  exquisite  scene  repeat- 
ed in  the  evening,  on  the  condensed  stage  of  a rout-room, 
where  one  has  more  heat,  with  less  air,  and  a narrower 
dungeon,  with  diminished  possibility  of  escape!  — we 
wander  about  like  the  damned  in  the  story  of  Yathek^ 
and  we  pass  our  lives,  like  the  royal  philosopher  of  Prussia, 
in  conjugating  the  verb,  Je  ennuis. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


101 


CHAPTER  LXYII. 

In  solo  vivendi  causa  palate  est. — Juvenal. 

The7  would  talk  of  nothing  but  high  life,  and  high-lived 

company;  with  other  fashionable  topics,  such  as  pictures,  taste, 
Shakspeare,  and  the  musical  glasses. — Vicar  of  Wakefield, 

The  reflections  which  closed  the  last  chapter  will  serve 
to  show  that  I was  in  no  very  amiable  or  convivial  temper, 
when  I drove  to  Lord  Guloseton’s  dinner.  However,  in 
the  world,  it  matters  little  what  may  be  our  real  mood, 
the  mask  hides  the  bent  brow  and  the  writhing  lip. 

Guloseton  was  stretched  on  his  sofa,  gazing  with  upward 
eye  at  the  beautiful  Yenus  which  hung  above  his  hearth. 
“You  are  welcome,  Pelham;  I am  worshipping  my 
household  divinity  ! ’’ 

I prostrated  myself  on  the  opposite  sofa,  and  made 
some  answer  to  the  classical  epicure,  which  made  us  both 
laugh  heartily.  We  then  talked  of  pictures,  painters, 
poets,  the  ancients,  and  Dr.  Plenderson  on  Wines ; .ve 
gave  ourselves  up,  without  restraint,  to  the  enchanting 
fascination  of  the  last-named  subject ; and,  our  mutual 
enthusiasm  confirming  our  cordiality,  we  went  down  stairs 
to  our  dinner,  as  charmed  with  each  other  as  boon  com* 
panions  always  should  be. 

“ This  is  as  it  should  be,’’  said  I,  looking  round  at  the 
well-filled  table,  and  the  sparkling  spirits  immersed  in  the 
9 * 


J02 


PELHAM;  OR, 


ice-pails  ; a genuine  friendly  dinner.  It  is  very  rarely 
that  I dare  entrust  myself  to  such  extempore  hospitality 
— miserum  est  aliend  vivere  quadra; — a friendly  dinner, 
a family  meal,  are  things  from  which  I fly  with  undisguised 
aversion.  It  is  very  hard,  that  m England,  one  cannot 
have  a friend,  on  pain  of  being  shot  or  poisoned  ; if  you 
refuse  his  familiar  invitations,  he  thinks  you  mean  to  affront 
him,  and  says  something  rude,  for  which  you  are  forced  to 
challenge  him  ; if  you  accept  them,  you  perish  beneath 
the  weight  of  boiled  mutton  and  turnips,  or ” 

“ My  dear  friend,^’  interrupted  Guloseton,  wdth  his 
mouth  full,  “ it  is  very  true ; but  this  is  no  time  for  talking  ; 
let  us  eaV^ 

I acknowledged  the  justice  of  the  rebuke,  and  we  did  not 
interchange  another  word  beyond  the  exclamations  of 
surprise,  pleasure,  admiration,  or  dissatisfaction,  called  up 
by  the  objects  which  engrossed  our  attention,  till  we  found 
ourselves  alone  with  our  dessert. 

When  I thought  my  host  had  imbibed  a sufficient  quan- 
tity of  wine,  I once  more  renewed  my  attack.  I had  tried 
him  before  upon  that  point  of  vanity  which  is  centred  in 
power,  and  political  consideration,  but  in  vain  ; I now 
Dethought  me  of  another. 

How  few  persons  there  are,’’  said  I,  capable  of  giving 
even  a tolerable  dinner  — how  many  capable  of  admiring 
one  worthy  of  estimation  I I could  imagine  no  greater 
triumph  for  the  ambitious  epicure,  than  to  see  at  his  board 
the  first  and  most  honored  persons  of  the  state,  all  lost  in 
jv^onder  at  the  depth,  the  variety,  the  purity,  the  muLiticence 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


103 


of  his  taste  ; all  forgetting,  in  the  extorted  respect  which 
a gratified  palate  never  fails  to  produce,  the  more  visionary 
schemes  and  projects  which  usually  occupy  their  thoughts  ; 
— to  find  those  whom  all  England  are  soliciting  for  posts 
and  power,  become,  in  their  turn,  eager  and  craving  as- 
pirants for  places  at  his  table;  — to  know  that  all  the 
grand  movements  of  the  ministerial  body  are  planned  and 
agitated  over  the  inspirations  of  his  viands  and  the  excite- 
ment of  his  wine.  From  a haunch  of  venison,  like  the 
one  of  which  we  have  partaken  to-day,  what  noble  and 
substantial  measures  might  arise  I From  a soMte  de  foie ^ 
what  delicate  subtleties  of  finesse  might  have  their  origin  ! 
From  a ragout  cL  la  financiered  what  godlike  improvements 
in  taxation  ! Oh,  could  such  a lot  be  mine,  I would  envy 
neither  Napoleon  for  the  goodness  of  his  fortune,  nor 
S for  the  grandeur  of  his  genius.” 

Guloseton  laughed.  ‘‘The  ardor  of  your  enthusiasm 
blinds  your  philosophy,  my  dear  Pelham ; like  Montes- 
quieu, the  liveliness  of  your  fancy  often  makes  you  advance 
paradoxes  which  the  consideration  of  your  judgment 
would  afterwards  condemn.  For  instance,  you  must  allow 
that  if  one  had  all  those  fine  persons  at  one^s  table,  one 
would  be  forced  to  talk  more,  and  consequently  to  eat 
less : moreover,  you  would  either  be  excited  by  your 
triumph,  or  you  would  not, — that  is  indisputable  ; if  you 
are  not  excited,  you  have  the  bore  for  nothing  ; if  you  are 
excited,  you  spoil  your  digestion  : nothing  is  so  detrimental 
to  the  stomach  as  the  feverish  inquietude  of  the  passions. 
All  philosophies  recommend  calm  as  the  to  halon  of  theii 

2e 


104 


PELHAM;  OR, 


code  ; and  you  must  perceive,  that  if,  in  the  course  you 
advise,  one  has  occasional  opportunities  of  pride,  one  also 
has  those  of  mortification.  Mortification  ! terrible  word  ; 
how  many  apoplexies  have  arisen  from  its  source  ! Ko, 
Pelham,  away  with  ambition  ; fill  your  glass,  and  learn^ 
at  last,  the  secret  of  real  philosophy.’’ 

‘‘Confound  the  man!”  was  my  mental  anathema. — 
“ Long  life  to  the  Solomon  of  sautes, w^as  my  audible 
exclamation. 

“There  is  something,”  resumed  Guloseton,  “in  your 
countenance  and  manner,  at  once  so  frank,  lively,  and 
ingenuous,  that  one  is  not  only  prepossessed  in  your  favor, 
but  desirous  of  your  friendship.  I tell  you,  therefore,  in 
confidence,  that  nothing  more  amuses  me  than  to  see  the 
courtship  I receive  from  each  party.  I laugh  at  all  the 
unwise  and  passionate  contests  in  which  others  are  enga- 
ged, and  I would  as  soon  think  of  entering  into  the  chivalry 
of  Don  Quixote,  or  attacking  the  visionary  enemies  of  the 
Bedlamite,  as  of  taking  part  in  the  fury  of  politicians.  At 
present,  looking  afar  off  at  their  delirium,  I can  ridicule 
it ; W'ere  I to  engage  in  it,  I should  be  hurt  by  it.  I have 
no  wish  to  become  the  w^eeping,  instead  of  the  laughing, 
philosopher.  I sl^ep  well  now  — I have  no  desire  to  sleep 
ill.  I eat  well  — why  should  I lose  my  appetite  r I am 
undisturbed  and  unattacked  in  the  enjoyments  best  suited 
to  my  taste  — for  what  purpose  should  I be  hurried  into 
the  abuse  of  the  journalists  and  the  witticisms  of  pam- 
phleteers ? I can  ask  those  whom  I like  to  my  house  — 
why  should  I be  forcedin  to  asking  those  whom  I do  not 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLE>MAN. 


105 


like  ? In  fine,  my  good  Felham,  why  should  I sour  my 
temper  and  shorten  my  life,  put  my  green  old  age  into 
flannel  and  physic,  and  become,  from  the  happiest  of  sages, 
the  most  miserable  of  fools?  Ambition  reminds  me  of 
what  Bacon  says  of  anger  — ‘It  is  like  rain,  it  breaks 
itself  upon  that  which  it  falls  on.’  Pelham,  my  boy,  taste 
the  Chateau  Margot. 

However- hurt  my  vanity  might  be  in  having  so  ill  suc- 
ceeded in  my  object,  I could  not  help  smiling  with  satis- 
faction at  my  entertainer’s  principles  of  wisdom.  My 
diplomatic  honor,  however,  was  concerned,  and  I resolved 
yet  to  gain  him.  If,  hereafter,  I succeeded,  it  was  by  a very 
different  method  from  any  I had  yet  taken  ; meanwhile,  I 
departed  from  the  house  of  this  modern  Apicius  with  a 
new  insight  into  the  great  book  of  mankind,  and  a new 
conclusion  from  its  pages ; viz.  that  no  virtue  can  make  so 
perfect  a philosopher  as  the  senses.  There  is  no  conteiP- 
like  that  of  the  epicure  — no  active  code  of  morals  sc 
difficult  to  conquer  as  the  inertness  of  his  indolence  ; he  it 
the  only  being  in  the  world  for  whom  the  present  has  2 
supremer  gratification  than  the  future. 

My  cabriolet  soon  whirled  me  to  Lady  Roseville's  door; 
the  first  person  I saw  in  the  drawing-room,  was  Ellen. 
She  lifted  up  her  eyes  with  that  familiar  sweetness  with 
which  they  had  long  since  learnt  to  welcome  me.  “ She 
is  the  sister  of  a murderer  1 ” was  the  thought  that  curdled 
my  blood,  and  I bowed  distantly  and  passed  on. 

I met  Yincent.  He  seemed  dispirited  and  dejected. 
He  already  saw  how  ill  his  party  had  succeeded  ; above 


106 


PELHAM;  OR, 


all,  he  was  enraged  at  the  idea  of  the  person  assigned  by 
rumour  to  fill  the  place  he  had  intended  for  himself.  This 
person  was  a sort  of  rival  to  his  lordship,  a man  of  quaint- 
riess  and  quotation,  with  as  much  learning  as  Yincent, 
equal  wit,  and  — but  that  personage  is  still  in  office,  and 
I will  say  no  more,  lest  he  should  think  I flatter. 

To  our  subject.  It  has  probably  been  observed  that 
Lord  Yincent  had  indulged  less  of  late  in  that  peculiar 
strain  of  learned  humor  formerly  his  wont.  The  faot  is, 
that  he  had  been  playing  another  part;  he  wished  to 
remove  from  his  character  that  appearance  of  literary 
coxcombry  with  which  he  was  charged.  He  knew  well 
how  necessary,  in  the  game  of  politics,  it  is  to  appear  no 
less  a man  of  the  world  than  of  books ; and  though  he 
was  not  averse  to  display  his  clerkship  and  scholastic 
information,  yet  he  endeavored  to  make  them  seem  rather 
valuable  for  their  weight,  than  curious  for  their  fashion. 
How  few  there  are  in  the  world  who  retain,  after  a certain 
age,  the  character  originally  natural  to  them  ! We  all 
get,  as  it  were,  a second  skin  ; the  little  foibles,  propen- 
sities, eccentricities,  we  first  indulged  through  affectation, 
conglomerate  and  encrust  till  the  artificiality  grows  into 
nature. 

Pelham,’^  said  Yincent,  with  a cold  smile,  ^^the  day 
will  be  yours  ; ’the  battle  is  not  to  the  strong  — the  Whigs 
will  triumph.  ^ Fag  ere  Pudor^  verum  que,  fidesque  ; in 
quorum  subiere  locum  fraudenque  dolique  insidiceque^ 
et  vis,  et  amor  sceleratus  habendV 

* “Shame,  Truth,  and  Faith  have  flown ; in  their  stead  creep  ic 
frauds,  craft,  snares,  force,  and  the  rascally  love  of  gain.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  i07 

‘‘A  pretty  modest  quotation,’’  said  I.  You  must  allow, 
at  least,  that  the  amor  sceleratus  habendi  was  also,  in 
some  moderate  degree,  shared  by  the  Pudor  and  Fidea 
which  characterize  your  party  ; otherwise  I am  at  a loss 
how  to  account  for  the  tough  struggle  against  us  we  have 
lately  had  the  honor  of  resisting.” 

Never  mind,”  replied  Yincent,  I will  not  refute  you  : 
— It  is  not  for  us,  the  defeated,  to  argue  with  you,  the 
victors.  But  pray,  (continued  Yincent,  with  a sneer  which 
pleased  me  not,)  pray,  among  this  windfall  of  the  Hespe- 
rian fruit,  what  nice  little  apple  will  fall  to  your  share  ? 

My  good  Yincent,  don’t  let  us  anticipate  ; if  any  such 
apple  should  come  into  my  lap,  let  it  not  be  that  of 
discord  between  us.” 

“ Who  talks  of  discord  ? ” asked  Lady  Roseville,  join- 
ing us. 

Lord  Yincent,”  said  I,  fancies  himself  the  celebrated 
fruit,  on  which  was  written,  detur  pulchriori,  to  be  given 
to  the  fairest.  Suffer  me,  therefore,  to  make  him  a present 
to  your  ladyship.” 

Yincent  muttered  something  which,  as  I really  liked 
and  esteemed  him,  I was  resolved  not  to  hear  ; accordingly 
I turned  to  another  part  of  the  room  : there  I found  Lady 
Dawton  — she  was  a tall,  handsome  woman,  as  proud  as 
a liberal’s  wife  ought  to  be.  She  received  me  with  unusual 
graciousness,  and  I sat  myself  beside  her.  Three  dowa* 
gers,  and  an  old  beau  of  the  old  school,  were  already 
sharing  the  conversation  with  the  haughty  countess.  I 
found  that  the  topic  was  society. 


108 


PELHAM;  OR, 


said  the  old  beau,  who  was  entitled  Mr.  Claren- 
don, “ society  is  very  different  from  what  it  was  in  my 
younger  days.  You  remember,  Lady  Paulet,  those  de- 
lightful parties  at  D House  ? Where  shall  we  ever 

find  anything  like  them?  Such  ease,  such  company  — 
even  the  mixture  was  so  piquant ; if  one  chanced  to  sit 
next  a bourgeois,  he  was  sure  to  be  distinguished  for  hia 
wit  or  talent.  People  were  not  tolerated,  as  now,  merely 
for  their  riches.” 

True,”  cried  Lady  Dawton,  ^‘it  is  the  introduction  of 
low  persons,  without  any  single  pretension,  which  spoils 
the  society  of  the  present  day  ! ” And  the  three  dowa- 
gers sighed  amen,  to  this  remark. 

“And  yet,”  said  I,  “since  I may  safely  say  so  here 
without  being  suspected  of  a personality  in  the  shape  of 
a compliment,  don’t  you  think,  that  without  any  such 
mixture  we  should  be  very  indifferent  company  ? Do  we 
not  find  those  dinners  and  aoiree^  the  pleasantest  where 
we  see  a minister  next  to  a punster,  a poet  to  a prince, 
and  a coxcomb  like  me  next  to  a beauty  like  Lady  Dawton  ? 
The  more  variety  there  is  in  the  conversation,  the  more 
agreeable  it  becomes  ! ” 

“ Very  just,”  answered  Mr.  Clarendon  ; “ but  it  is  pre- 
cisely because  I wish  for  that  variety  that  I dislike  a 
miscellaneous  society.  If  one  does  not  know  the  person 
beside  whom  one  has  the  happiness  of  sitting,  what  possible 
subject  can  one  broach  with  any  prudence.  I put  politics 
aside,  because,  thanks  to  party  spirit,  we  rarely  meet  those 
we  are  strongly  opposed  to  ; but  if  we  sneer  at  the  metho' 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


109 


>dists,  our  neighbor  may  be  a saint  — if  we  abuse  a new 
book,  he  may  have  written  it  — if  we  observe  that  the 
tone  of  the  piano-forte  is  bad,  his  father  may  have  made 
it  — if  we  complain  of  the  uncertainty  of  the  commercial 
interest,  his  uncle  may  have  been  gazetted  last  week.  I 
name  no  exaggerated  instances  ; on  the  contrary,  I refer 
these  general  remarks  to  particular  individuals,  whom  all 
of  us  have  probably  met.  Thus,  you  see,  that  a variety 
of  topics  is  proscribed  in  a mixed  company,  because  some 
one  or  other  of  them  will  be  certain  to  offend.” 

Perceiving  that  we  listened  to  him  with  attention,  Mr. 
Clarendon  continued  — J^J'or  is  this  more  than  a minor 
objection  to  the  great  mixture  prevalent  amongst  us  : a 
more  important  one  may  be  found  in  the  universal  imitation 
it  produces.  The  influx  of  common  persons  being  once 
permitted,  certain  sets  recede,  as  it  were,  from  the  con- 
tamination, and  contract  into  very  diminished  coteries. 
Living  familiarly  solely  amongst  themselves,  however  they 
may  be  forced  into  visiting  promiscuously,  they  imbibe 
certain  manners,  certain  peculiarities  in  mode  and  words 
— even  in  an  accent  or  a pronunciation,  which  are  confined 
to  themselves : and  whatever  differs  from  these  little 
eccentricities,  they  are  apt  to  condemn  as  vulgar  and 
suburban.  Now,  the  fastidiousness  of  these  sets  making 
them  difficult  of  intimate  access,  even  to  many  of  their 
superiors  in  actual  rank,  those  very  superiors,  by  a natural 
feeling  in  human  nature,  of  prizing  what  is  rare,  even  if 
‘t  is  worthless,  are  the  first  to  solicit  their  acquaintance  ; 

and,  as  a sign  that  they  enjoy  it,  to  imitate  those  peculi- 
11.  — 10 


110 


PELHAM;  OR, 


arities  which  are  the  especial  hieroglyphics  of  this  sacred 
few.  The  lower  grades  catch  the  contagion,  and  imitate 
those  they  imagine  most  likely  to  know  the  essentials  of 
the  mode  ; and  thus  manners,  unnatural  to  all,  are  trans- 
mitted second-hand,  third-hand,  fourth-hand,  till  they  ara 
ultimately  filtered  into  something  worse  than  no  manners 
at  all.  Hence,  you  perceive  all  people  timid,  stiff,  unnatu- 
ral, and  ill  at  ease  ; they  are  dressed  up  in  a garb  which 
does  not  fit  them,  to  which  they  have  never  been  accus- 
tomed, and  are  as  little  at  home  as  the  wild  Indian  in  the 
boots  and  garments  of  the  more  civilized  European.” 

^^And  hence,”  said  I,  springs  that  universal  vulgarity 
of  idea,  as  well  as  manner,  which  pervades  all  society  — 
for  nothing  is  so  plebeian  as  imitation.” 

very  evident  truism  ! ” said  Clarendon.  What  I 
lament  most,  is  the  injudicious  method  certain  persons 
took  to  change  this  order  of  things,  and  diminish  the 
desagremens  of  the  mixture  we  speak  of.  I remember 
well,  when  Almack’s  was  first  set  up,  the  intention  was  to 
keep  away  the  rich  roturiers  from  a place,  the  tone  of 
which  was  also  intended  to  be  contrary  to  their  own. 
For  this  purpose  the  patronesses  were  instituted,  the 
price  of  admission  made  extremely  low,  and  all  ostentatious 
refreshments  discarded  : it  was  an  admirable  institution 
for  the  interests  of  the  little  oligarchy  who  ruled  it  — but 
it  has  only  increased  the  general  imitation  and  vulgarity. 
Perhaps  the  records  of  that  institution  contain  things  more 
disgraceful  to  the  aristocracy  of  England,  than  the  whole 
history  of  Europe  can  furnish.  And  how  could  the  31es- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


Ill 


sieurs  et  Mesdames  Jourdains  help  following  the  servile 
and  debasing  example  of  Monseigneur  le  Due  et  Pairl  ” 

How  strange  it  is/’  said  one  of  the  dowagers,  “ that 
of  all  the  novels  on  society  with  which  we  are  annually 
inundated,  there  is  scarcely  one  which  gives  even  a tolera- 
ble description  of  it ! ” 

Not  strange,”  said  Clarendon,  with  a formal  smile, 
^‘if  your  ladyship  will  condescend  to  reflect.  Most  of  the 
writers  upon  our  little  great  world  have  seen  nothing  of 
it : at  most,  they  have  been  occasionally  admitted  into  the 
routs  of  the  B. ’s  and  C.’s  of  the  second,  or  rather  the  third 
set.  A very  few  are,  it  is  true,  gentlemen  ; but  gentlemen, 
who  are  not  writers,  are  as  bad  as  writers  who  are  not 
gentlemen.  In  one  work,  which,  since  it  is  popular,  I 
will  not  name,  there  is  a stiffness  and  stiltedness  in  the 
dialogue  and  descriptions  perfectly  ridiculous.  The  author 
makes  his  countesses  always  talking  of  their  family,  and 
his  earls  always  quoting  the  peerage.  There  is  as  much 
fuss  about  state,  and  dignity,  and  pride,  as  if  the  greatest 
amongst  us  were  not  far  too  busy  with  the  petty  aflairs 
of  the  world  to  have  time  for  such  lofty  vanities.  There 
is  only  one  rule  necessary  for  a clever  writer  who  wishes 
to  delineate  the  beau  monde.  It  is  this  : let  him  consider 
that  ‘dukes,  and  lords,  and  noble  princes,’  eat,  drink,  talk, 
move,  exactly  the  same  as  any  other  class  of  civilized 
people  — nay,  the  very  subjects  in  conversation  are,  for 
the  most  part,  the  same  in  all  sets  — only,  perhaps,  they 
are  somewhat  more  familiarly  and  easily  treated  with  us 
than  among  the  lower  orders,  who  fancy  rank  is  distin* 


112 


PELHAM;  OR, 


guished  by  pomposity,  and  that  state  affairs  are  discussed 
with  the  solemnity  of  a tragedy  — that  we  are  always  my 
lording  and  my  ladying  each  other  — that  we  ridicule 
commoners,  and  curl  our  hair  with  Debrett’s  Peerage.” 

We  all  laughed  at  this  speech,  the  truth  of  which  we 
readily  acknowledged. 

“ Nothing,”  said  Lady  Dawton,  amuses  me  more  than 
to  see  the  great  distinction  which  novel-writers  make 
between  the  titled  and  the  untitled  ; they  seem  to  be 
perfectly  unaware  that  a commoner,  of  ancient  family  and 
large  fortune,  is  very  often  of  far  more  real  rank  and  esti- 
mation, and  even  weight,  in  what  they  are  pleased  to  term 
fashion,  than  many  of  the  members  of  the  Upper  House. 
And  what  amuses  me  as  much,  is  the  no  distinction  they 

make  between  all  people  who  have  titles  : — Lord  A , 

the  little  baron,  is  exactly  the  same  as  Lord  Z , the 

great  marquess,  equally  haughty  and  equally  important.” 

mon  Dieuf  said  a little  French  count,  who  had 
just  joined  us ; “ how  is  it  that  you  can  expect  to  find  a 
description  of  society  entertaining,  when  the  society  itself 
is  so  dull  ? — the  closer  the  copy,  the  more  tiresome  it 
must  be.  Your  manner,  pour  vous  amuser,  consists  in 
standing  on  a crowded  staircase,  and  complaining  that 
you  are  terribly  bored.  Uon  s^accoutume  difficilemeni 
CL  line  vie  qui  se  passe  sur  Vescalierd^ 

It  is  very  true,”  said  Clarendon,  “ we  cannot  defend 
ourselves.  We  are  a very  sensible,  thinking,  brave,  saga, 
cious,  generous*  industrious,  noble-minded  people  ; but  it 
must  be  confessed,  that  we  are  terrible  bores  to  ourselves 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  113 

and  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Lady  Paulet,  if  you  are 
going  so  soon,  honor  me  by  accepting  my  arra.^' 

‘‘  You  should  say  your  hand,^^  said  the  Frenchman. 

“Pardon  me,’’  answered  the  gallant  old  beau  ; “ I say, 
with  your  brave  countryman  when  he  lost  his  legs  in  battle, 
and  was  asked  by  a lady,  like  the  one  who  now  leans  on 
me  whether  he  would  not  sooner  have  lost  his  arms  ? ‘No, 
madam,’  said  he,  (and  this,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  is  the 
answer  I give  to  your  rebuke,)  ‘ I want  my  hands  to  guard 
my  lieart.’” 

Finding  our  little  knot  was  now  broken  up,  I went 
into  another  part  of  the  room,  and  joined  Vincent,  Lady 
Roseville,  Ellen,  and  one  or  two  other  persons  who  were 
assembled  round  a table  covered  with  books  and  prints. 
Ellen  was  sitting  on  one  side  of  Lady  Roseville  ; there 
was  a vacant  chair  next  her,  but  I avoided  it,  and  seated 
myself  on  the  other  side  of  Lady  Roseville. 

“Pray,  Miss  Glanville,”  said  Lord  Vincent,  taking  up 
a thin  volume,  “do  you  greatly  admire  the  poems  of  this 
lady  ? ” 

“ What,  Mrs.  Remans  ? ” answered  Ellen.  “ I am  more 
enchanted  with  her  poetry  than  I can  express  : if  that  is 
‘ The  Forest  Sanctuary’  which  you  have  taken  up,  I am 
sure  you  will  bear  me  out  in  my  admiration.” 

Vincent  turned  over  the  leaves  with  the  quiet  cynicism 
of  manner  habitual  to  him  ; but  his  countenance  grew 
animated  after  he  had  read  two  pages.  “ Tiiis  is,  iiide('d, 
beautiful,”  said  he,  “ really  and  genuinely  beautiful.  How 
singular  that  such  a work  should  not  be  more  known  I I, 
10* 


114 


PELHAM;  OR, 

never  met  with  it  before.  But  whose  pencil-marks  are 
these  ? P 

‘‘Mine,  I believe,’’  said  Ellen,  modestly. 

And  Lady  Roseville  turned  the  conversation  upon 
Lord  Byron. 

“ I must  confess,  for  my  part,”  sr.id  Lord  Edward 
Neville  (an  author  of  some  celebrity  and  more  merit), 
“ that  I am  exceedingly  weary  of  those  doleful  ditties 
wdth  which  we  have  been  favored  for  so  many  years.  No 
sooner  had  Lord  Byron  declared  himself  unhappy,  than 
every  young  gentleman  with  a pale  face  and  dark  hair, 
thought  himself  justified  in  frowning  in  the  glass  and 

writing  Odes  to  Despair.  All  persons  who  could  scribble 

0 

two  lines  were  sure  to  make  them  into  rhymes  of  ‘blight’ 
and ‘night.’  Never  was  there  so  grand  & penchant  fov 
the  triste.^^ 

“It  would  be  interesting  enough,”  observed  Vincent, 
“to  trace  the  origin  of  this  melancholy  mania.  People 
are  wrong  to  attribute  it  to  poor  Lord  Byron  — it  cer- 
tainly came  from  Germany  ; perhaps  Werter  was  the  first 
hero  of  that  school.” 

“ There  seems,”  said  I,  “ an  unaccountable  prepossession 
among  all  persons,  to  imagine  that  whatever  seems  gloomy 
must  be  profound,  and  whatever  is  cheerful  must  be 
shallow.  They  have  put  poor  Philosophy  into  deep 
mourning,  and  given  her  a coffin  for  a writing-desk,  and 
a skull  for  an  inkstand.” 

“ Oh,”  cried  Vincent,  “ I remember  some  lines  so  ap- 
plicable to  your  remark,  that  I must  forthwith  interrupt 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAxV.  llO 

jou,  in  order  to  introduce  them.  Madame  de  Stael  said, 
in  one  of  her  works,  that  melancholy  was  a source  of 
perfection.  Listen  now  to  my  author  — 

‘Une  femme  nous  dit,  et  nous  prouve  en  effet, 

Qu’avant  quelques  mille  ans  I’homme  sera  parfait, 

Qu’il  devra  cet  6tat  ^ la  melancolie. 

On  sait  que  la  tristesse  annonce  le  genie; 

Nous  avons  d4ja  fait  des  progr^s  etonnans; 

Que  de  tristes  Merits  — que  de  tristes  romans ! 

Des  plus  noires  horreurs  nous  sommes  idolS-tres, 

Et  la  melancolie  a gagne  nos  theatres.^ 

What  I ” cried  I,  are  you  so  well  acquainted  with 
my  favorite  book  ? 

Yours  ! ’’  exclaimed  Vincent.  Gods,  what  a sympa- 
thy f ; it  has  long  been  my  most  familiar  acquaintance  ; 
but  — 


“‘Tell  us  what  hath  chanced  to-day, 

That  Caesar  looks  so  sad  ? ’ ” 

My  eye  followed  Vincent’s  to  ascertain  the  meaning  of 
this  question,  and  rested  upon  Glanville,  who  had  that 
moment  entered  the  room.  I might  have  known  that  he 
was  expected,  by  Lady  Koseville’s  abstraction,  the  rest- 
lessness with  which  she  started  at  times  from  her  seat,  and 

*“A  woman  tells  us,  and  in  fact  she  proves. 

That  man,  though  slowly,  to  perfection  mo7es; 

But  to  be  perfect,  first  we  must  be  sad; 

Genius,  we  know,  is  melancholly  mad. 

Already  Time  our  startling  progress  hails  ; 

What  cheerless  essay<}!  — what  disastrous  tales! 

Horror  has  grown  the  .amusement  of  the  age. 

And  Mirth  despairing  yawns,  and  flies  the  stage.” 
tLa  Gastronomie,  Poerne,  par  J.  Berchoux. 


116 


PELHAM;  OR, 


as  instantly  resumed  it  ; and  the  fond  expecting  looks 
towards  the  door,  every  time  it  shut  or  opened,  which 
denote  so  strongly  the  absent  and  dreaming  heart  of  the 
\^oman  who  loves. 

Glanville  seemed  paler  than  usual,  and  perhaps  even 
sadder  ; but  he  was  less  distrait  and  abstracted  ; no  sooner 
did  he  see,  than  he  approached  me,  and  extended  his  hand 
with  great  cordiality.  His  hand  ! thought  I,  and  I could 
not  bring  myself  to  accept  it  ; I merely  addressed  him  in 
the  common-place  salutation.  He  looked  hard  and  in- 
quisitively at  me,  and  then  turned  abruptly  away.  Lady 
Koseville  had  risen  from  her  chair  — her  eyes  followed 
him.  lie  had  thrown  himself  on  a settee  near  the  window. 
She  went  up  to  him,  and  sat  herself  by  his  side.  I turned 
— my  face  burned  — my  heart  beat  — I was  now  next  to 
Ellen  Glanville  ; she  was  looking  down,  apparently  em- 
ployed with  some  engravings,  but  I thought  her  hand 
trembled. 

There  was  a pause.  Yincent  was  talking  with  the  other 
occupiers  of  the  table  : a woman,  at  such  times,  is  always 
the  first  to  speak.  '‘We  have  not  seen  you,  Mr.  Pelham,’^ 
said  Ellen,  “since  your  return  to  town.’’ 

“ I have  been  very  ill,”  I answered,  and  I felt  my  voice 
falter.  Ellen  looked  up  anxiously  at  my  face  ; I could 
not  brook  those  large,  deep,  tender  eyes,  and  it  now 
became  my  turn  to  occupy  myself  with  the  prints. 

“You  do  look  pale,”  she  said,  in  a low  voice.  I did 
not  trust  myself  with  a further  remark  — dissimulator  as 
I was  to  others,  I was  like  a guilty  child  before  the  woman 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


117 


r ioved.  There  was  another  pause  — at  last  Ellen  said, 
“ How  do  you  think  my  brother  looks  ? 

I started ; yes,  he  ivas  her  brother,  and  I was  once  more 
myself  at  that  thought.  I answered  so  coldly,  and  almost 
haughtily,  that  Ellen  colored,  and  said  with  some  dignity 
that  she  should  join  Lady  Roseville.  I bowed  slightly, 
and  she  withdrew  to  the  countess.  I seized  my  hat  and 
departed  — but  not  utterly  alone  — I had  managed  to  se- 
crete the  book  which  Ellen’s  hand  had  marked  : through 
many  a bitter  day  and  sleepless  night,  that  book  has  been 
my  only  companion  : I have  it  before  me  now  ; and  it  is 
open  at  a page  which  is  yet  blistered  with  the  traces  of 
former  tears  ! 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

Our  mistress  is  a little  given  to  pliilosop^'v : what  disputa- 
tions shall  we  have  here  by  and  by? — Gil  Blas. 

It  was  now  but  seldom  that  I met  Ellen,  for  I went 
little  into  general  society,  and  grew  every  day  more  en* 
grossed  in  political  affairs.  Sometimes,  however,  when, 
wearied  of  myself,  and  my  graver  occupations,  I yielded 
to  my  mother’s  solicitations,  and  went  to  one  of  the  nightly 
haunts  of  the  goddess  ive  term  Plea^^ure,  and  the  Greeks 
Maria,  the  game  of  dissipation  (to  use  a Spanish  proverb) 
Rhuffled  us  together.  It  was  then  that  I had  the  most 


118 


PELHAM;  OR, 


difficult  task  of  my  life  to  learn  and  to  perform ; to  check 
the  lip  — the  eye  — the  soul  — to  heap  curb  on  curb,  upon 
the  gushings  of  the  heart,  which  daily  and  hourly  yearned 
to  overflow  ; and  to  feel,  that  while  the  mighty  and  rest- 
less tides  of  passion  were  thus  fettered  and  restrained,  all 
within  was  a parched  and  arid  wilderness,  that  wasted 
itself,  for  want  of  very  moisture,  away.  Yet  there  was 
something  grateful  in  the  sadness  with  which  I watched 
her  form  in  the  dance,  or  listened  to  her  voice  in  the 
song ; and  I felt  soothed,  and  even  happy,  when  my  fancy 
flattered  itself,  that  her  step  never  now  seemed  so  light, 
as  it  was  wont  to  be  when  in  harmony  with  mine,  nor  the 
songs  that  pleased  her  most,  so  gay  as  those  that  were 
formerly  her  choice. 

Distant  and  unobserved,  I loved  to  feed  my  eyes  upon 
her  pale  cheek  and  downcast  eye  ; to  note  the  abstraction 
that  came  over  her  at  moments,  even  when  her  glance 
seemed  brightest,  and  her  lip  most  fluent ; and  to  know, 
that  while  a fearful  mystery  might  for  ever  forbid  the 
union  of  our  hands,  there  was  an  invisible,  but  .electric 
chain,  which  connected  the  sympathies  of  our  hearts. 

Ah  I why  is  it,  that  the  noblest  of  our  passions  should 
be  also  the  most  selfish  ? — that  while  we  would  make  all 
earthly  sacrifice  for  the  one  we  love,  we  are  perpetually 
demanding  a sacrifice  in  return  ; that  if  we  cannot  have 
the  rapture  of  blessing,  we  find  a consolation  in  the  power 
to  afflict ; and  that  we  acknowledge,  while  we  reprobate, 
the  maxim  of  the  sage  ; Von  veut  faire  tout  le  bonheur^ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  119 

ou,  si  cela  ne  se  pent  ainsiy  tout  le  malheur  de  ce  qu'^on 
(jkime.  ” * 

The  beauty  of  Ellen  was  not  of  that  nature  whicn  rests 
solely  upon  the  freshness  of  youth,  nor  even  the  magic  of 
expression  ; it  was  as  faultless  as  it  was  dazzling  ; no  one 
could  deny  its  excess  or  its  perfection  ; her  praises  came 
constantly  to  my  ear,  into  whatever  society  I went.  Say 
what  we  will  of  the  power  of  love,  it  borrows  greatly  from 
opinion  : pride,  above  all  things,  sanctions  and  strength- 
ens affection.  When  all  voices  were  united  to  panegyrize 
her  beauty,  — when  I knew,  that  the  powers  of  her  wit 
— the  charms  of  her  conversation  — the  accurate  judg- 
ment, united  to  the  sparkling  imagination,  were  even 
more  remarkable  characteristics  of  her  mindy  than  love- 
liness of  her  person y I could  not  but  feel  my  ambition,  as 
well  as  my  tenderness,  excited  : I dwelt  with  a double  in- 
tensity on  my  choice,  and  with  a tenfold  bitterness  on  the 
obstacle  which  forbade  me  to  indulge  it. 

Yet  there  was  one  circumstance,  to  which,  in  spite  of 
all  the  evidence  against  Reginald,  my  mind  still  fondly 
and  eagerly  clung.  In  searching  the  pockets  of  the  un- 
fortunate Tyrrell,  the  money  he  had  mentioned  to  me  as 
being  in  his  possession,  could  not  be  discovered.  Had 
Glaiiville  been  the  murderer,  at  all  events  he  could  not 
have  been  the  robber.  It  was  true  that  in  the  death  scuffle, 
which  in  all  probability  took  place,  the  money  might  have 
fallen  from  the  person  of  the  deceased,  either  among  the 

* “ One  wishes  to  make  all  the  happiness,  or,  if  that  is  forbidden, 
fiV  the  unhappiness  of  the  being  we  love.” 

2p 


120 


PELHAM;  OR, 


long  grass  which  grew  rankly  and  luxuriantly  around,  or 
in  the  sullen  and  slimy  pool,  close  to  which  the  murder 
was  perpetrated  ; it  was  also  possible,  that  Thornton, 
knowing  that  the  deceased  had  so  large  a sum  about  him, 
and  not  being  aw^are  that  the  circumstance  had  been  com- 
municated to  me  or  any  one  else,  might  not  have  been 
able  (when  he  and  Dawson  first  went  to  the  spot)  to  resist 
so  great  a temptation.  However,  there  was  a slight 
crevice  in  this  fact,  for  a sunbeam  of  hope  to  enter,  and  I 
was  too  sanguine,  by  habitual  temperament  and  present 
passion,  not  to  turn  towards  it  from  the  general  darkness 
of  my  thoughts. 

With  Glanville  I was  often  brought  into  immediate 
contact.  Both  united  in  the  same  party,  and  engaged  in 
concerting  the  same  measures  : we  frequently  met  in  public, 
and  sometimes  even  alone.  However,  I was  invariably 
cold  and  distant,  and  Glanville  confirmed  rather  than 
diminished  my  suspicions,  by  making  no  commentary  on 
my  behavior,  and  imitating  it  in  the  indifference  of  his 
own.  Yet,  it  was  with  a painful  and  aching  heart,  that 
I marked  in  his  emaciated  form  and  sunken  cheek,  the 
gradual,  but  certain  progress  of  disease  and  death ; and 
while  all  England  rang  with  the  renown  of  the  young, 
but  almost  unrivalled  orator,  and  both  parties  united  in 
anticipating  the  certainty  and  brilliancy  of  his  success,  I 
ielt  how  improbable  it  was,  that,  even  if  his  crime  escaped 
the  unceasing  vigilance  of  justice,  this  living  world  would 
long  possess  any  traces  of  his  genius  but  the  remembrance 
of  his  name.  There  was  something  in  his  love  of  letters. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


121 


his  habits  of  luxury  and  expense,  the  energy  of  his  mind 
— the^olitude,  the  darkness,  the  hauteur,  the  reserve  of 
his  manners  and  life,  which  reminded  me  of  the  German 
Wallenstein;  nor  w-as  he  altogether  without  the  super- 
stition of  that  evil,  but  extraordinary  man.  It  is  true 
that  he  was  not  addicted  to  the  romantic  fables  of  astrol- 
ogy, but  he  was  an  earnest,  though  secret,  advocate  of 
the  world  of  spirits.  He  did  not  utterly  disbelieve  the 
various  stories  of  their  return  to  earth  and  their  visits  to 
the  living  ; and  it  would  have  been  astonishing  to  me,  had 
I been  a less  diligent  observer  of  human  inconsistencies, 
to  mark  a mind,  otherwise  so  reasoning  and  strong,  in  this 
respect  so  credulous  and  weak  ; and  to  witness  its  reception 
of  a belief,  not  only  so  adverse  to  ordinary  reflection,  but 
so  absolutely  contradictory  to  the  philosophy  it  passion- 
ately cultivated,  and  the  principles  it  obstinately  espoused. 

One  evening,  I,  Vincent,  and  Clarendon,  were  alone  at 
Lady  Roseville’s,  when  Reginald  and  his  sister  entered. 
I rose  to  depart ; the  beautiful  Countess  would  not  suffer 
it;  and  when  I looked  at  Ellen,  and  saw  her  blush  at  my 
glance,  the  weakness  of  my  heart  conquered,  and  I i^e- 
mained. 

Our  conversation  turned  partly  upon  books,  and  prin- 
cipally on  the  science  du  coeur  et  du  for  Lady 

Roseville  was  un  peu  philosoplie,  as  well  as  more  than 
UY)  peu  lilteraire  ; and  her  house,  like  those  of  the  Du 
Deffatids  and  D’Epinays  of  the  old  French  regime,  was 
one  where  serious  subjects  were  cultivated,  as  well  as  the 
lighter  ones  ; where  it  was  the  mode  to  treat  no  less  upon 
IL  — 11 


122 


PELHAM;  OR, 


things  than  to  scandalize  persons;  and  where  maxims  on 
men  and  reflections  on  manners  were  as  much  in  their 
places,  as  strictures  on  the  Opera  and  invitations  to  balls. 

All  who  were  now  assembled  were  more  or  less  suited 
to  one  another ; all  were  people  of  the  world,  and  yet 
occasional  students  of  the  closet;  but  all  had  a different 
method  of  expressing  their  learning  or  their  observations. 
Clarendon  was  dry,  formal,  shrewd,  and  possessed  of  the 
suspicious  philosophy  common  to  men  hackneyed  in  the 
w’orld.  Vincent  relieved  his  learning  by  the  quotation  or 
metaphor,  or  originality  of  some  sort,  with  which  it  was 
expressed.  Lady  Roseville  seldom  spoke  much,  but  when 
she  did,  it  was  rather  with  grace  than  solidity.  She  was 
naturally  melancholy  and  pensive,  and  her  observations 
partook  of  the  colorings  of  her  mind  ; but  she  was  also  a 
dame  de  la  cour,  accustomed  to  conceal,  and  her  lan- 
guage was  gay  and  trifling,  while  the  sentiments  it  clothed 
were  pensive  and  sad. 

Ellen  Glanville  was  an  attentive  listener,  but  a diffident 
speaker.  Though  her  knowledge  was  even  masculine 
for  its  variety  and  extent,  she  was  averse  from  displaying 
it ; the  childish,  the  lively,  the  tender,  were  the  outward 
traits  of  her  character  — the  flowers  were  above,  but  the 
mine  w^as  beneath;  one  noted  the  beauty  of  the  first — ■ 
one  seldom  dreamt  of  the  value  of  the  last. 

Glanville’s  favorite  method  of  expressing  himself  was 
terse  and  sententious.  He  did  not  love  the  labor  of 
detail : he  conveyed  the  knowledge  of  years  in  an  axiom. 
Sometimes  he  w^as  fanciful,  sometimes  false  ; but,  gene* 
rally  dark,  melancholy,  and  bitter. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


123 


As  for  me,  I entered  more  into  conversation  at  Ladj 
Roseville’s  than  I usually  do  elsewhere  ; being,  accord- 
ing to  my  favorite  philosophy,  gay  on  the  serious,  and 
serious  on  the  gay ; and,  perhaps,  this  is  a juster  method 
of  treating  the  two  than  would  be  readily  imagined  : for 
things  which  are  usually  treated  with  importance,  are, 
for  the  most  part,  deserving  of  ridicule  : and  those  which 
we  receive  as  trifles,  swell  themselves  into  a consequence 
we  little  dreamt  of,  before  they  depart. 

Yincent  took  up  a volume  : it  was  Shelley’s  Posthumous 
Poems.  How  fine,”  said  he,  “some  of  these  are  ! but 
they  are  fine  fragments  of  an  architecture  in  bad  taste  : 
they  are  imperfect  in  themselves,  and  faulty  in  the  school 
they  belong  to  ; yet,  such  as  they  are,  the  master-hand 
is  evident  upon  them.  They  are  like  the  pictures  of  Paul 
Veronese  — often  offending  the  eye,  often  irritating  tne 
judgment,  but  breathing  of  something  vast  and  lofty — • 
their  very  faults  are  majestic;  — this  age,  perhaps  no 
other,  will  ever  do  them  justice  — but  the  disciples  of 
future  schools  will  make  glorious  pillage  of  their  remains. 
The  writings  of  Shelley  would  furnish  matter  for  a hundred 
volumes;  they  are  an  admirable  museum  of  ill-arranged 
curiosities  — they  are  diamonds  awkwardly  set;  but  one 
of  them,  in  the  hands  of  a skilful  jeweller,  would  be  in- 
estimable ; and  the  poet  of  the  future  will  serve  him  as 
Mercury  did  the  tortoise  in  his  own  translation  from  Homer 
— make  him  ‘sing  sweetly  when  he’s  dead  I ’ Their  lyres 
will  be  made  out  of  his  shellJ^ 

“If  I judge  rightly,”  said  Clarendon,  “his  literary 


124 


PELHAM;  OR 


faults  were  these  ; he  was  too  learned  in  his  poetry,  and 
too  poetical  in  his  learning*.  Learning  is  the  bane  of  a 
poet.  Imagine  how  beautiful  Petrarch  would  be  without 
his  platonic  conceits  ; fancy  the  luxuriant  imagination  of 
Cowley,  left  to  run  wild  among  the  lofty  objects  of  nature, 
not  the  minute  peculiarities  of  art.  Even  Milton,  who 
made  a more  graceful  and  gorgeous  use  of  learning,  than, 
perhaps,  any  other  poet,  would  have  been  far  more  popular 
if  he  had  been  more  familiar.  Poetry  is  for  the  multitude 

— erudition  for  the  few.  In  proportion  as  you  mix  them, 
erudition  will  gain  in  readers,  and  poetry  lose.” 

True,”  said  Glanville  ; and  thus  the  poetical,  among 
philosophers,  are  the  most  popular  of  their  time  ; and  the 
philosopliical  among  poets,  the  least  popular  of  theirs.” 

“Take  care,”  said  Vincent,  smiling,  “that  we  are  not 
misled  by  the  point  of  your  deduction  ; the  remark  is  true, 
but  with  a certain  reservation,  viz.,  that  the  philosophy 
which  renders  a poet  less  popular,  must  be  the  phiosophy 
of  learning,  not  of  wisdom.  Wherever  it  consists  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  plainer  springs  of  the  heart,  and  not 
in  abstruse  inquiry  into  its  metaphysical  and  hidden  sub- 
tleties, it  necessarily  increases  the  popularity  of  the  poem  ; 
because,  instead  of  being  limited  to  the  few,  it  comes 
home  to  every  one.  Thus,  it  is  the  philosophy  of  Shak- 
speare,  which  puts  him  into  every  one’s  hands  and  hearts 

— while  that  of  Lucretius,  wonderful  poet  as  he  is,  makes 
us  often  throw  down  the  book  because  it  fatigues  us  with 
the  scholar.  Philosophy,  therefore,  only  sins  in  poetry. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


125 


when,  in  the  severe  garb  of  learning,  it  becomes  harsh 
and  crabbed,’  and  not  ‘musical  as  is  Apollo’s  lute.’” 

“Alas  ! ” said  I,  “how  much  more  difficult  than  of  yore 
education  is  become  ! formerly,  it  had  only  one  object — • 
to  acquire  learning  ; and  now,  we  have  not  only  to  acquire 
it,  but  to  know  what  to  do  with  it  when  we  have  — nay, 
there  are  not  a few  cases  where  the  very  perfection  of 
learning  will  be  to  appear  ignorant.” 

“Perhaps,”  said  Glanville,  “the  very  perfection  of 
wisdom  may  consist  in  retaining  actual  ignorance.  Where 
was  there  ever  the  individual  who,  after  consuming  years, 
life,  health,  in  the  pursuit  of  science,  rested  satisfied  with 
its  success,  or  rewarded  by  its  triumph  ? Common  sense 
tells  us  that  the  best  method  of  employing  life  is  to  enjoy 
it.  Common  sense  tells  us,  also,  the  ordinary  means  of 
this  enjoyment ; health,  competence,  and  the  indulgence, 
but  the  moderate  indulgence,  of  our  passions.  What 
have  these  to  do  with  science  ? ” 

“I  might  tell  you,”  replied  Yincent,  “that  I myself 
have  been  no  idle  nor  inactive  seeker  after  the  hidden 
treasures  of  mind  ; and  that,  from  my  own  experience,  I 
could  speak  of  pleasure,  pride,  complacency,  in  the  pur- 
suit, that  were  no  inconsiderable  augmenters  of  my  stock 
of  enjoyment;  but  I have  the  candor  to  confess,  also,  that 
T have  known  disappointment,  mortification,  despondency 
of  mind,  and  infirmity  of  body,  that  did  more  than  balance 
the  account.  The  fact  is,  in  my  opinion,  that  the  indi- 
vidual is  a sufferer  for  his  toils,  but  then  the  mass  is 
benefited  by  his  success.  It  is  we  who  reap,  in  idle 
11  * 


126 


PELHAM;  OR, 


gratification,  what  the  husbandman  has  sown  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  labor.  Genius  did  not  save  Milton  from  poverty 
and  blindness  — nor  Tasso  from  the  mad-house  — nor  Ga- 
lileo  from  the  inquisition  ; they  were  the  sufferers,  but 
posterity  the  gainers.  The  literary  empire  reverses  the 
political;  it  is  not  the  many  made  for  one  — it  is  the 
one  made  for  many.  Wisdom  and  Genius  must  have 
their  martyrs  as  well  as  Religion,  and  with  the  same 
results,  viz.,  semen  ecclesice  est  sanguis  martyrorum. 
And  this  reflection  must  console  us  for  their  misfortunes^ 
for,  perhaps,  it  was  sufficient  to  console  them.  In  the 
midst  of  the  most  affecting  passage  in  the  most  wonder- 
ful work,  perhaps,  ever  produced,  for  the  mixture  of 
universal  thought  with  individual  interest  — I mean  the 
last  two  cantos  of  Childe  Harold  — the  poet  warms  from 
himself  at  his  hopes  of  being  remembered 

‘ In  his  line 

‘.With  his  land’s  language.’ 

And  who  can  read  the  noble  and  heart-speaking  apology 
of  Algernon  Sydney,  without  entering  into  his  consola- 
tion no  less  than  his  misfortunes  ? Speaking  of  the  law 
being  turned  into  a snare,  instead  of  a protection,  and 
instancing  its  uncertainty  and  danger  in  the  times  of 
Richard  the  Second,  he  says,  ‘ God  only  knows  what 
will  be  the  issue  of  the  like  practices  in  these  our  days; 
perhaps  He  will  in  his  mercy  speedily  visit  his  afflicted 
people  ; I die  in  the  faith  that  he  will  do  it^  though  I 
know  not  the  time  or  nays.  ^ ” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  121 

I love,’’  said  Clarendon,  the  enthusiasm  which  placed- 
comfort  in  so  noble  a source  ; but,  is  vanity,  think  you,  a 
less  powerful  agent  than  philanthropy  ? Is  it  not  the 
desire  of  shining  before  men  that  prompts  us  to  whatever 
may  effect  it  ? and  if  it  can  create,  can  it  not  also  sup- 
port f I mean,  that  if  you  allow  that  to  shine,  to  dazzle, 
to  enjoy  praise,  is  no  ordinary  incentive  to  the  com- 
mencement of  great  works,  the  conviction  of  future  success 
for  this  desire  becomes  no  inconsiderable  reward.  Grant, 
for  instance,  that  this  desire  produced  the  ‘ Paradise 
Lost,’  and  you  will  not  deny  that  it  might  also  support 
the  poet  through  his  misfortunes.  Do  you  think  that  he 
thought  rather  of  the  pleasure  his  work  should  afford  to 
posterity,  than  of  the  praises  posterity  should  extend  to 
bis  work  ? Had  not  Cicero  left  us  such  frank  confessions 
of  himself,  how  patriotic,  how  philanthropic  we  should 
have  esteemed  him  I Now  we  know  both  his  motive  and 
meed  was  vanity,  may  we  not  extend  the  knowledge  of 
human  nature  which  we  have  gained  in  this  instance  by 
applying  it  to  others  ? For  my  part,  I should  be  loth  to 
inquire  how  large  a quantum  of  vanity  mingled  with  the 
haughty  patriotism  of  Sydney,  or  the  unconquered  soul 
of  Cato.” 

Glanville  bowed  his  head  in  approval. 

But,”  observed  I,  ironically,  why  be  so  uncharitable 
to  this  poor  and  persecuted  principle,  since  none  of  you 
deny  the  good  and  great  actions  it  effects  ; why  stigmatize 
vanity  as  a vice,  when  it  creates,  or,  at  least,  participates 
bi,  so  many  virtues  ? I wonder  the  ancients  did  not  erect 


128 


PELHAM;  OR; 


the  choicest  of  their  temples  to  its  worship.  As  for  me, 

I shall  henceforth  only  speak  of  it  as  the  primum  mobile 
of  whatever  we  venerate  and  admire,  and  shall  think  it 
the  highest  compliment  I can  pay  to  a man,  to  tell  him 
\e  is  eminently  vainP^ 

“I  incline  to  yonr  opinion,’’  cried  Yincent,  laughing. 
The  reason  we  dislike  vanity  in  others,  is  because  it  is 
perpetually  hurting  our  own.  Of  all  passions  (if  for  the 
moment  I may  call  it  such)  it  is  the  most  indiscreet ; it  is 
for  ever  blabbing  out  its  own  secrets.  If  it  would  but 
keep  its  counsel,  it  would  be  as  graciously  received  in 
society,  as  any  other  well-dressed  and  well-bred  intruder 
of  quality.  Its  garrulity  makes  it  despised.  But  in  truth 
it  must  be  clear,  that  vanity  in  itself  is  neither  a vice  nor 
a virtue,  any  more  than  this  knife,  in  itself,  is  dangerous 
or  useful ; the  person  who  employs  gives  it  its  qualities  : 
thus,  for  instance,  a great  mind  desires  to  shine,  or  is  vaiiiy 
in  great  actions  ; a frivolous  one,  in  frivolities  ; and  so 
on  through  the  varieties  of  the  human  intellect.  But  I 
cannot  agree  with  Mr.  Clarendon  that  my  admiration  of 
Algernon  Sydney  (Cato  I never  did  admire)  would  be  at 
all  lessened  by  the  discovery,  that  his  resistance  to  tyran- 
ny in  a great  measure  originated  in  vanity,  or  that  the 
same  vanity  consoled  him,  when  he  fell  a victim  to  that 
resistance;  for  what  does  it  prove  but  this,  that,  among 
the  various  feelings  of  his  soul,  indignation  at  oppression 
(so  common  to  all  men) — enthusiasm  for  liberty,  (so 
predominant  in  him) — the  love  of  benefiting  others  — 
Ihe  noble  pride  of  being,  in  death,  consistent  with  him  - 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


1:9 


self ; among  all  these  feelings,  among  a crowd  of  others 
equally  honorable  and  pure  — there  was  also  one,  and 
perhaps  no  inconsiderable  feeling,  of  desire  that  his  life 
and  death  should  be  hereafter  appreciated  justly  ? Con- 
tempt of  fame  is  the  contempt  of  virtue.  Xever  consider 
that  vanity  an  offence  which  limits  itself  to  wishing  for 
the  praise  of  good  men  for  good  actions;  ‘next  to  our 
own  esteem,’  says  the  best  of  the  Roman  philosophers, 
‘it  is  a virtue  to  desire  the  esteem  of  others.’  ” 

“By  your  emphasis  on  the  word  esteem, said  Lady 
Roseville,  “ I suppose  you  attach  some  peculiar  importance 
to  the  word  ? ” 

“ I do,”  answered  Vincent.  “I  use  it  in  contra-distinc- 
tion to  admiration.  We  may  covet  general  admiration 
for  a had  action  — (for  many  bad  actions  have  the  clin- 
quant, which  passes  for  real  gold)  — but  one  can  expect 
general  esteem  only  for  a good  one.” 

“ From  this  distinction,”  said  Ellen,  modestly,  “ may 
we  not  draw  an  inference,  which  will  greatly  help  us  in 
our  consideration  of  vanity  ? may  we  not  deem  that  vanity 
which  desires  only  the  esteem  of  others,  to  be  invariably 
a virtue,  and  that  which  only  longs  for  admiration  to  be 
frequently  a vice  ? ” 

“ We  may  admit  your  inference,”  said  Vincent ; “ and 
before  I leave  this  question,  I cannot  help  remarking 
upon  the  folly  of  the  superficial,  who  imagine,  by  studying 
human  motivtes,  hat  philosophers  wish  to  depreciate  human 
actions.  To  direct  our  admiration  to  a proper  point,  is 
surely  not  to  destroy  it : yet  how  angry  inconsiderate 


130 


PELHAM;  OK 


enthusiasts  are,  when  we  assign  real,  in  the  place  of  exag* 
gerated  feelings  1 Thus  the  advocates  for  the  doctrine  of 
utility  — the  most  benevolent,  because  the  most  indulgent, 
of  all  philosophies  — are  branded  with  the  epithets  of 
selfish  and  interested ; decriers  of  moral  excellence,  and 
disbelievers  in  generous  actions.  Yice  has  no  friend  like 
ihe  prejudices  which  call  themselves  virtue.  Le  'pretexts 
ordinaire  de  ceux  qui  ford  le  malheur  des  autres  est 
quHls  veulent  leur  hiend^^ 

My  eyes  were  accidentally  fixed  on  Glanville  as  Yincent 
ceased  ; he  looked  up,  and  colored  faintly  as  he  met  ray 
look;  but  he  did  not  withdraw  his  own  — keenly  and 
steadily  we  gazed  upon  each  other,  till  Ellen,  turning 
round  suddenly,  remarked  the  unwonted  meaning  of  our 
looks,  and  placed  her  hand  in  her  brother’s,,  with  a sort 
of  fear. 

It  was  late  ; he  rose  to  withdraw,  and  passing  me,  said 
in  a low  tone,  “A  little  while,  and  you  shall  know  all.^' 
I made  no  answer  — he  left  the  room  with  Ellen. 

“ Lady  Roseville  has  had  but  a dull  evening,  I fear, 
with  our  stupid  saws  and  ancient  instances,’^  said  Yincent. 
The  eyes  of  the  person  he  addressed  were  fixed  upon  the 
ioor  ; I was  standing  close  by  her,  and,  as  the  w'ords 
struck  her  ear,  she  turned  abruptly  ; — a tear  fell  upon 
my  hand  — she  perceived  it,  and  though  I would  not 
look  upon  her  facej  I saw  that  her  very  neck  blushed  ; 
but  she,  like  me,  if  she  gave  way  to  feeling,  had  learned 
too  deep  a lesson  from  the  world,  not  readily  to  resume 

* “ The  ordinary  pretext  of  those  who  make  the  misery  of  others 
is,  that  they  wish  their  good.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 

her  self-command  ; she  answered  Yincent  rallyingly,  upon 
his  bad  compliment  to  us,  and  received  our  adieus  with 
all  her  customary  grace,  and  more  than  her  customary 
gaiety. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

Ah  ! Sir,  had  I but  bestowed  half  the  pains  in  learning  a trade, 
that  I have  in  learning  to  be  a scoundrel,  I might  have  been  a rich 
man  at  this  day  ; but,  rogue  as  I am,  still  I may  be  your  friend, 
and  that  perhaps,  when  you  least  expect  it. — Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

What  with  the  anxiety  and  uncertainty  of  my  political 
prospects,  the  continued  whirlpool  in  which  I lived,  and 
above  all,  the  unpropitious  state  of  my  belle  passion ^ my 
health  gave  way  ; my  appetite  forsook  me  — my  sleep 
failed  me  — I lost  my  good  looks,  and  my  mother  declared, 
that  I should  have  no  chance  with  an  heiress ; all  these 
circumstancesntogether  were  not  without  their  weight. 
So  I set  out  one  morning  to  Hampton  Court,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  country  air. 

It  is  by  no  means  an  unpleasant  thing  to  turn  one’s 
back  upon  the  great  city  in  the  height  of  its  festivities. 
Misanthropy  is  a charming  feeling  for  a short  time,  and 
one  inhales  the  country,  and  animadverts  on  the  town, 
with  the  most  melancholy  satisfaction  in  the  world.  I 
sat  myself  down  at  a pretty  little  cottage,  a mile  out  of 
the  town.  From  the  window  of  my  drawing-room  I re- 
velled in  the  luxurious  contemplation  of  three  pigs,  one 


132 


PELHAM;  OR, 


COW,  and  a straw  yard  ; and  I could  get  to  the  Thames 
in  a walk  of  five  minutes,  by  a short  cut  through  a lime- 
kiln. Such  pleasing  opportunities  of  enjoying  the  beauties 
of  nature,  are  not  often  to  be  met  with  : you  may  be  sure, 
therefore,  that  I made  the  most  of  them.  I rose  early, 
walked  before  breakfast,  for  my  health,  and  came  back 
with  a most  satisfactory  headache,  for  my  pains.  I read 
for  just  three  hours,  walked  for  two  more,  thought  over 
Abernethy,  dyspepsia,  and  blue  pills,  till  dinner  ; and 
absolutely  forgot  Lord  Dawton,  ambition,  Guloseton, 
epicurism  — ay,  all  but  — of  course,  reader,  you  know 
whom  I am  about  to  except, — the  ladye  of  my  love. 

One  bright,  laughing  day,  I threw  down  my  book  an 
hour  sooner  than  usual,  and  sallied  out  with  a lightness 
of  foot  and  exhilaration  of  spirit,  to  which  I had  long 
been  a stranger.  I had  just  sprung  over  a stile  that  led 
into  one  of  those  green  shady  lanes,  which  make  us  feel 
that  the  old  poets  who  loved,  and  lived  for  nature,  were 
right  in  calling  our  island  “ the  merry  England  ’’  — when 
I was  startled  by  a short,  quick  bark,  on  one  side  of  the 
hedge.  I turned  sharply  round  ; and,  seated  upon  the 
sward,  was  a man,  apparently  of  the  pedlar  profession  ; a 
large  deal  box  was  lying  open  before  him  ; a few  articles 
of  linen,  and  female  dress,  were  scattered  round,  and  the 
man  himself  appeared  earnestly  occupied  in  examining  the 
deeper  recesses  of  his  itinerant  warehouse.  A small 
black  terrier  flew  towards  me  with  no  friendly  growl. 
‘^Down,’’  said  I:  all  strangers  are  not  foes — though 
the  English  generally  think  so.’’ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  13.‘J 

The  man  hastily  looked  up  ; perhaps  he  was  struck 
with  the  quaintness  of  my  remonstrance  to  his  canine 
companion  ; for,  touching  his  hat,  civilly,  he  said  — “ The 
dog,  Sir,  is  very  quiet ; he  only  means  to  give  me  the 
alarm  by  giving  it  to  you;  for  dogs  seem  to  have  no 
despicable  insight  into  human  nature,  and  know  well  that 
the  best  of  us  may  be  taken  by  surprise.’^ 

You  are  a moralist,’^  said  I,  not  a little  astonished  in 
my  turn  by  such  an  address  from  such  a person.  “ I could 
not  have  expected  to  stumble  upon  a philosopher  so  easily. 
Have  you  any  wares  in  your  box  likely  to  suit  me  ? if  so, 
I should  like  to  purchase  of  so  moralizing  a vender  ! ” 

“ No,  Sir,^’  said  the  seeming  pedlar,  smiling,  and  yet 
at  the  same  time  hurrying  his  goods  into  his  box,  and 
carefully  turning  the  key  — “no.  Sir,  I am  only  a bearer 
of  other  men’s  goods  ; my  morals  are  all  that  I can  call 
my  own,  and  those  I will  sell  you  at  your  own  price.” 

“ You  are  candid,  my  friend,”  said  I,  “ and  your  frank- 
ness, alone,  would  be  inestimable  in  this  age  of  deceit, 
and  country  of  hypocrisy.” 

“Ah,  Sir  ! ” said  my  new  acquaintance,  “ I see  already 
that  you  are  one  of  those  persons  who  look  to  the  dark 
side  of  things  ; for  my  part,  I think  the  present  age  the 
best  that  ever  existed,  and  our  own  country  the  most 
virtuous  in  Europe.” 

“I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Optimist,  on  your  opinions,” 
quoth  I ; “ but  your  observation  leads  me  to  suppose, 
that  you  are  both  an  historian  and  a traveller : am  I 
right  ? ’ 

IT. — 12 


134 


TEL  ham;  or. 


Why,’^  answered  the  box-bearer,  I have  dabbled  a 
little  in  books,  and  wandered  not  a little  among  men.  I 
am  just  returned  from  Germany,  and  am  now  going  to  my 
friends  in  London.  I am  charged  with  this  box  of  goods  : 
Heaven  send  me  the  luck  to  deliver  it  safe  1 

'‘Amen,’’  said  I ; “ and  with  that  prayer  and  this  trifle, 
I wish  you  a good  morning.” 

" Thank  you  a thousand  times.  Sir,  for  both,”  replied 
the  man  — " but  do  add  to  your  favors  by  informing  me 
of  the  right  road  to  the  town  of  * * * *.” 

" I am  going  in  that  direction  myself : if  you  choose  to 
accompany  me  part  of  the  way,  I can  ensure  your  not 
missing  the  rest.” 

“ Your  honor  is  too  good  ! ” returned  he  of  the  box, 
rising,  and  slinging  his  fardel  across  him — "it  is  but 
seldom  that  a gentleman  of  your  rank  will  condescend  to 
walk  three  paces  with  one  of  mine.  You  smile.  Sir  ; 
perhaps  you  think  I should  not  class  myself  among  gen- 
tlemen ; and  yet  I have  as  good  a right  to  the  name  as 
most  of  the  set.  I belong  to  no  trade — I follow  no  calling  : 
I rove  where  I list,  and  rest  where  I please  : in  short,  I 
know  no  occupation  but  my  indolence,  and  no  law  but  my 
will.  Now,  Sir,  may  I not  call  myself  a gentleman  ? ” 

"Of  a surety  ! ” quoth  I.  "You  seem  to  me  to  hold 
a middle  rank  between  a half-pay  captain  and  the  king  of 
the  gipsies.” 

" You  have  hit  it.  Sir,”  rejoined  my  companion,  with  a 
slight  laugh.  He  was  now  by  my  side,  and  as  we  walked 
on,  I had  leisure  more  minutely  to  examine  him.  He  was 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


135 


a middle-sized,  and  rather  athletic  man,  apparently  about 
the  age  of  thirty-eight.  He  was  attired  in  a dark-blue 
frock  coat,  which  was  neither  shabby  nor  new,  but  ill  made, 
and  much  too  large  and  long  for  its  present  possessor  ; 
beneath  this  was  a faded  velvet  waistcoat,  that  had  former- 
ly, like  the  Persian  ambassador’s  tunic,  blushed  with 
crimson,  and  blazed  with  gold  ; ” but  which  might  now 
have  been  advantageously  exchanged  in  Monmouth-street 
for  the  lawful  sum  of  two  shillings  and  ninepence  ; under 
this  was  an  inner  vest  of  the  cashmere  shawl  pattern, 
which  seemed  much  too  new  for  the  rest  of  the  dress. 
Though  his  shirt  was  of  a very  unwashed  hue,  I remarked 
with  some  suspicion,  that  it  was  of  a very  respectable  fine- 
ness ; and  a pin,  which  might  be  paste,  or  could  be  dia- 
mond, peeped  below  a tattered  and  dingy  black  kid  stock, 
like  a gipsy’s  eye  beneath  her  hair. 

His  trowsers  were  of  a light  grey,  and  the  justice  of 
Providence,  or  of  the  tailor,  avenged  itself  upon  them,  for 
the  prodigal  length  bestowed  upon  their  ill-assorted  com- 
panion, the  coat ; for  they  were  much  too  tight  for  the 
muscular  limbs  they  concealed,  and,  rising  far  above  the 
ankle,  exhibited  the  whole  of  a thick  Wellington  boot, 
which  was  the  ver*y  picture  of  Italy  upon  the  map. 

The  face  of  the  man  was  common-place  and  ordinary  ; 
one  sees  a hundred  such,  every  day,  in  Fleet-street  or  on  , 
the  ’Change  ; the  features  were  small,  irregular,  and  some- 
what flat:  yet  when  you  looked  twice  upon  the  counte- 
nance, there  was  something  marked  and  singular  in  the 

expression,  which  fully  atoned  for  the  commonness  of  the 
2a 


136 


PELHAM;  OR 


feat  tires.  The  right  eye  turned  away  from  the  left,  in  that 
watchful  squint  which  seems  constructed  on  the  same 
considerate  plan  as  those  Irish  guns,  made  for  shooting 
round  a corner  ; his  eye-brows  were  large  and  shaggy,  and 
greatly  resembled  bramble  bushes,  in  whicn  his  fox-like 
eyes  had  taken  refuge.  Round  these  vulpine  retreats  was 
a labyrinthean  maze  of  those  wrinkles,  vulgarly  called 
crow’s-feet ; deep,  intricate,  and  intersected.,  they  seemed 
for  all  the  world  like  the  web  of  a Chancery  suit.  Singular 
enough,  the  rest  of  the  countenance  was  perfectly  smooth 
and  unindented  ; even  the  lines  from  the  nostril  to  the 
corners  of  the  mouth,  usually  so  deeply  traced  in  men  of 
his  age,  were  scarcely  more  apparent  than  in  a boy  of 
eighteen. 

His  smile  was  frank  — his  voice  clear  and  hearty  — his 
address  open,  and  much  superior  to  his  apparent  rank  of 
life,  claiming  somewhat  of  equality,  yet  conceding  a great 
deal  of  respect ; but,  notwithstanding  all  these  certainly 
favorable  points,  there  was  a sly  and  cunning  expression 
in  his  perverse  and  vigilant  eye  and  all  the  wrinkled 
demesnes  in  its  vicinity,  that  made  me  mistrust  even  while 
I liked  my  companion  ; perhaps,  indeed,  he  was  too  frank, 
too  familiar,  too  degage,  to  be  quite  natural.  Your  honest 
men  may  soon  buy  reserve  by  experienee.  Rogues  are 
communicative  and  open,  because  confidence  and  openness 
costs  them  nothing.  To  finish  the  description  of  my  new 
acquaintance,  I should  observe  that  there  was  something 
in  his  countenance,  which  struck  me  as  not  wholly  un- 
familiar ; it  was  one  of  those  which  we  have  not,  in  all 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  13'^ 

liiiraan  probability,  seen  before,  and  yet,  which  (perhaps, 
from  their  very  commonness)  we  imagine  we  have  encoun- 
tered a hundred  times. 

We  walked  on  briskly,  notwithstanding  the  warmth 
the  day  ; in  fact,  the  air  was  so  pure,  the  grass  so  green, 
the  laughing  noon-day  so  full  of  the  hum,  the  motion,  and 
the  life  of  creation,  that  the  feeling  produced  was  rather 
that  of  freshness  and  invigoration  than  of  languor  and 
heat. 

“ We  have  a beautiful  country,  Sir,^’  said  my  hero  of 
the  box.  “It  is  like  walking  through  a garden,  after  the 
more  sterile  and  sullen  features  of  the  Continent.  A pure 
mind,  Sir,  loves  the  country;  for  my  part,  I am  always 
disposed  to  burst  out  in  thanksgiving  to  Providence  when 
I behold  its  works,  and  like  the  valleys  in  the  psalm,  I 
am  ready  to  laugh  and  sing.’’ 

“An  enthusiast,”  said  I,  “as  well  as  a philosopher  I 
perhaps  (and  I believed  it  likely),  I have  the  honor  of 
addressing  a poet  also.” 

“Why,  Sir,”  replied  the  man,  “ I have  made  verses  in 
my  life  ; in  short,  there  is  little  I have  not  done,  for  1 
was  always  a lover  of  variety  ; but,  perhaps,  your  honor 
will  let  me  return  the  suspicion.  Are  you  not  a favorite 
of  the  muse  ? ” 

“I  cannot  say  that  I am,”  said  1.  “I  value  myself 
only  on  my  common  sense  — the  very  antipodes  to  genius, 
you  know,  according  to  the  orthodox  belief.” 

“ Common  sense  I ” repeated  my  companion,  with  a 
singular  and  meaning  smile,  and  a twinkle  with  his  left 
12  ♦ 


138 


PELHAM;  OR, 


eye.  Common  sense  ! Ah,  that  is  not  mj  forte,  Sir. 
You,  I dare  say,  are  one  of  those  gentlemen  whom  it  is 
very  difficult  to  take  in,  either  passively  or  actively,  by 
appearance,  or  in  act  ? For  my  part,  I have  been  a 
dupe  all  my  life  — a child  might  cheat  me  1 I am  the 
most  unsuspicious  person  in  the  world. 

“ Too  candid  by  half,^^  thought  1.  “ The  man  is 

certainly  a rascal : but  what  is  that  to  me  ? I shall  never 
see  him  again  : ’’  and,  true  to  my  love  of  never  losing 
sight  of  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining  individual  cha- 
racter, I observed  that  I thought  such  an  acquaintance 
very  valuable,  especially  if  he  w^ere  in  trade  ; it  was  a • 
pity,  therefore,  for  my  sake,  that  my  companion  had  in- 
formed me  that  he  followed  no  calling. 

Why,  Sir,’’  said  he,  ''  I am,  occasionally,  in  employ- 
ment; my  nominal  profession  is  that  of  a broker.  I buy 
shawls  and  handkerchiefs  of  poor  countesses,  and  retail 
them  to  rich  plebeians.  I fit  up  new-married  couples 
with  linen,  at  a more  moderate  rate  than  the  shops,  and 
procure  the  bridegroom  his  present  of  jewels,  at  forty  per 
cent,  less  than  the  jewellers  ; nay,  I am  as  friendly  to  an 
intrigue  as  a marriage  ; and  when  I cannot  sell  my  jewels, 

I wdll  my  good  offices.  A gentleman  so  handsome  as 
your  honor,  may  have  an  affair  upon  your  hands  : if  so, 
you  may  rely  upon  my  secrecy  and  zeal.  In  short,  I am 
an  innocent,  good-natured  fellow,  who  does  harm  to  no 
one  for  nothing,  and  good  to  every  one  for  something.” 

‘‘I  admire  your  code,”  quoth  I,  “and  whenever  I w^ant 
a mediator  between  Venus  and  myself,  will  employ  you. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  139 

Have  you  always  followed  your  present  idle  profession, 
or  were  you  brought  up  to  any  other  ? 

‘‘  I was  intended  for  a silversmith,’^  answered  ray  friend, 
but  Providence  willed  it  otherwise ; they  taught  me 
from  childhood  to  repeat  the  Lord’s  prayer;  Heaven 
heard  me,  and  delivered  me  from  temptation — there  is, 
indeed,  something  terribly  seducing  in  the  face  of  a silver 
spoon  ! ” 

Well,”  said  I,  ^‘you  are  the  honestest  knave  I ever 
met,  and  one  would  trust  you  with  one’s  purse  for  the 
ingenuousness  with  which  you  own  you  would  steal  it. 
Pray,  think  you  it  is  probable  that  I have  ever  had  the 
happiness  to  meet  you  before  ? I cannot  help  fancying 
so — yet  as  I have  never  been  in  the  watch-house,  or 
the  Old  Bailey,  my  reason  tells  me  that  I must  be  mistaken.” 

Not  at  all.  Sir,”  returned  my  worthy  : I remember 
you  well,  for  I never  saw  a face  like  yours  that  I did  not 
remember.  I had  the  honor  of  sipping  some  British 
liquors  in  the  same  room  with  yourself,  one  evening  ; 
you  were  then  in  company  with  ray  friend  Mr.  Gordon.” 

Ha  I ” said  I,  “ 1 thank  you  for  the  hint.  I now 
remember  well,  by  the  same  token,  he  told  me  that  you 
were  the  most  ingenious  gentleman  in  England  ; and  that 
you  had  a happy  propensity  of  mistaking  other  people’s 
possessions  for  your  own.  I congratulate  myself  upon 
so  desirable  an  acquaintance.” — 

My  friend,  who  was  indeed  no  other  than  Mr.  Job 
Jonson,  smiled  with  his  usual  blandness,  and  made  me  a 
low  bow  of  acknowledgment  before  he  resumed  : — 


140 


PELHAM;  OR, 


‘‘No  doubt,  Sir,  Mr.  Gordon  informed  you  right.  I 
flatter  myself  few  gentlemen  understand  better  than  my- 
self, the  art  of  appropriation;  though  I say  it  who 
should  not  say  it,  I deserve  the  reputation  I have  ac- 
quired. Sir,  I have  always  had  ill  fortune  to  struggle 
against,  and  have  always  remedied  it  by  two  virtues — ' 
perseverance  and  ingenuity.  To  give  you  an  idea  of  my 
ill  fortune,  know  that  I have  been  taken  up  twenty-three 
times  on  suspicion  ; of  my  perseverance,  know  that  twenty- 
three  times  I have  been  taken  up  justly ; and  of  my 
ingenuity,  know  that  I have  been  twenty-three  times 
let  off,  because  there  was  not  a tittle  of  legal  evidence 
against  me  ! 

“I  venerate  your  talents,  Mr.  Jonson,’^  replied  I,  “if 
by  the  name  of  Jonson  it  pleaseth  you  to  be  called, 
although,  like  the  heathen  deities,  I presume  that  you 
have  many  titles,  whereof  some  are  more  grateful  to  your 
ears  than  others.’’ 

“Nay,”  answered  the  man  of  two  virtues — “ I am  never 
ashamed  of  my  name  ; indeed,  I have  never  done  any 
thing  to  disgrace  me.  I have  never  indulged  in  low 
company,  nor  profligate  debauchery  ; whatever  I have 
executed  by  way  of  profession,  has  been  done  in  a su- 
perior and  artist-like  manner;  not  in  the  rude  bungling 
fashion  of  other  adventurers.  Moreover,  I have  always 
had  a taste  for  polite  literature,  and  went  once  as  an  ap- 
prentice to  a publishing  bookseller,  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  reading  the  new  works  before  they  came  out.  In  fine, 

I have  never  neglected  any  opportunity  of  improving  my 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  141 

mind  ; and  the  worst  that  can  be  said  against  me  is,  that 
I have  remembered  my  catechism,  and  taken  all  possible 
pains  ‘to  learn  and  labor  truly,  to  get  my  living,  and  do 
my  duty  in  that  state  of  life,  to  which  it  has  pleased 
Providence  to  call  me.^’^ 

“ I have  often  heard, answered  I,  “that  there  is  honor 
among  thieves  ;•!  am  happy  to  learn  from  you,  that  there 
is  also  religion  : your  baptismal  sponsors  must  be  proud 
of  so  diligent  a godson.’’ 

“They  ought  to  be.  Sir,”  replied  Mr.  Jonson,  “for  I 
gave  them  the  first  specimens  of  my  address  ; the  story  is 
long,  but  if  you  ever  give  me  an  opportunity,  I will 
relate  it.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  I ; “ meanwhile  I must  wish  you  a 
good  morning  ; your  road  now  lies  to  the  right.  I return 
you  my  best  thanks  for  your  condescension  in  accompany- 
ing so  undistinguished  an  individual  as  myself.” 

“ Oh  never  mention  it,  your  honor,”  rejoined  Mr. 
Jonson.  “I  am  always  too  happy  to  walk  with  a gen- 
tleman of  your  ‘common  sense.’  Farewell,  Sir;  may  we 
meet  again.” 

So  saying,  Mr.  Jonson  struck  into  his  new  road  and 
we  parted.  * 

I went  home,  musing  on  my  adventure,  and  delighted 
with  my  adventurer.  When  I was  about  three  paces  from 
the  door  of  my  home,  I was  accosted,  in  a most  pitiful 

* If  any  one  should  think  this  sketch  from  nature  exaggerated, 
I refer  him  to  the  “ Memoirs  of  James  Hardy  Vaux.” 


142 


PELHAM;  OR, 


tone,  by  a poor  old  beggar,  apparently  in  the  last  extreme 
of  misery  and  disease.  Notwithstanding  my  political 
economy,  I was  moved  into  alms-giving  by  a spectacle  so 
wretched.  I put  my  hand  into  my  pocket,  my  purse  was 
gone  ; and,  on  searching  the  other,  lo  — my  handkerchief, 
my  pocket-book,  and  a gold  locket,  which  had  belonged 
to  Madame  d’Anville,  had  vanished  too. 

One  does  not  keep  company  with  men  of  two  virtues, 
and  receive  compliments  upon  one’s  common  sense,  for 
nothing  I 

The  beggar  still  continued  to  importune  me. 

“ Give  him  some  food  and  half  a crown,”  said  I,  to  my 
landlady.  Two  hours  afterwards,  she  came  up  to  me 
— “ Oh,  Sir,  my  silver  tea-pot — that  villain  the  beggar 

A light  flashed  upon  me — ‘'Ah,  Mr.  Job  Jonson  1 Mr. 
Job  Jonson  ! ” cried  I,  in  an  indescribable  rage;  “out 
of  my  sight,  woman  ! out  of  my  sight ! ” I stopped  short ; 
my  speech  failed  me.  Never  tell  me  that  shame  is  the 
companion  of  guilt  — the  sinful  knave  is  never  so  ashamed 
of  himself  as  is  the  innocent  fool  who  suffers  by  him 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


143 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

Then  must  I plunge  again  into  the  crowd, 

And  follow  all  that  peace  disdains  to  seek. — Byrojj, 

In  the  quiet  of  my  retreat  I remained  for  eight  days  — 
during  which  time  I never  looked  once  at  a newspaper 
— imagine  how  great  was  my  philosophy  ! On  the  ninth, 
I began  to  think  it  high  time  for  me  to  hear  from  Dawton  ; 
and  finding  that  I had  eaten  two  rolls  for  breakfast,  and 
that  certain  untimely  wrinkles  began  to  assume  a more 
mitigated  appearance,  I bethought  me  once  more  of  the 
“Beauties  of  Babylon.” 

While  I was  in  this  kindly  mood  towards  the  great  city 
and  its  inhabitants,  my  landlady  put  two  letters  in  my 
hand — one  was  from  my  mother,  the  other  from  Guloseton. 
I opened  the  latter  first ; it  ran  thus  — 

“ Dear  Pelham, 

“ I was  very  sorry  to  hear  you  had  left  town  — and  so 
unexpectedly  too.  I obtained  your  address  at  Mivart’s, 
and  hasten  to  avail  myself  of  it.  Pray  come  to  town 
immediately.  I have  received  some  chevreuil  as  a present, 
and  long  for  your  opinion  ; it  is  too  nice  to  keep  : for  all 
things  nice  were  made  but  to  grow  bad  when  nicest : as 
Moore,  I believe,  says  of  flowers,  substituting  sweet  and 
fleetest,  for  bad  and  nicest  j so,  you  see,  you  must  come 
without  loss  of  time. 


144 


PELHAM;  OR, 


‘'But  you,  my  friend  — how  can  you  possibly  have 
been  spending  your  time  ? I was  kept  awake  all  last  night, 
by  thinking  what  you  could  have  for  dinner.  Fish  is  out 
of  the  question  in  the  country ; chickens  die  of  the  pip 
everywhere  but  in  London  : game  is  out  of  season  ; it  is 
impossible  to  send  to  Giblett’s  for  meat ; it  is  equally  im- 
possible to  get  it  anywhere  else  ; and  as  for  the  only  two 
natural  productions  of  the  country,  vegetables  and  eggs, 
I need  no  extra  ordinary  penetration  to  be  certain  that 
your  cook  cannot  transmute  the  latter  into  an  omelette 
aux  huitres,  nor  the  former  into  legumes  d la,  crtme. 

"Thus  you  see,  by  a series  of  undeniable  demonstra- 
tions, you  must  absolutely  be  in  a state  of  starvation.  At 
this  thought,  tears  rush  into  my  eyes  : for  Heaven’s  sake, 
for  ray  sake,  for  your  own  sake,  but  above  all,  for  the 
sake  of  the  chevreuil,  hasten  to  London.  I figure  you 
to  myself  in  the  last  stage  of  atrophy — airy  as  a trifle, 
thin  as  the  ghost  of  a greyhound. 

" I need  say  no  more  on  the  subject.  I may  rely  on 
your  own  discretion  to  procure  me  the  immediate  pleasure 
of  your  company.  Indeed,  were  I to  dwell  longer  on  your 
melancholy  situation,  my  feelings  would  overcome  me.  — 
Mais  revenons  d nos  moutons : (a  most  pertinent  phrase, 
by  the  bye  — oh  I the  French  excel  us  in  everything,  from 
the  paramount  science  of  cookery,  to  the.  little  art  of  con- 
versation.) 

"You  must  tell  me  your  candid,  your  unbiassed,  your 
deliberate  opinion  of  chevreuil.  For  my  part,  I should 
not  wonder  at  the  mythology  of  the  northern  heathen 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  145 

nations,  which  places  hunting  among  the  chief  enjo3^ments 
of  their  heaven,  were  checreuil  the  object  of  their  chase  ; 
but  7iihil  eat  Omni  parte  beatum  ; — it  wants  fat,  mj  dear 
Pelham,  it  wants  fat : nor  do  I see  how  to  remedy  this 
defect;  for  were  we  by  art  to  supply  fat,  we  should 
deprive  ourselves  of  the  jfZauor  bestowed  by  nature  ; and 
this,  my  dear  Pelham,  was  always  my  great  argument  for 
liberty.  Cooped,  chained,  and  confined  in  cities,  and 
slavery,  all  things  lose  the  fresh  and  generous  tastes,  which 
it  is  the  peculiar  blessing  of  freedom  and  the  country  to 
afford. 

“ Tell  me,  my  friend,  what  has  been  the  late  subject  of 
your  reflections  ? My  thoughts  have  dwelt,  much  and 
seriously,  on  the  ^ terra  incognita,^  the  undiscovered  tracts 
in  i\\Qpays  culinaire,  which  the  profoundest  investigators 

have  left  untouched  and  unexplored  in veal.  But 

more  of  this  hereafter; — the  lightness  of  a letter  is  ill 
suited  to  the  depths  of  philosophical  research. 

Lord  Dawton  sounded  me  upon  my  votes  yesterday. 
‘A  thousand  pities  too,’  said  he,  ^ that  you  never  speak  in 
the  House  of  Lords.’ — ‘ Orator  fit,’  said  I — ‘ orators  are 
subject  to  apoplexy.' 

“Adieu,  my  dear  friend,  for  friend  you  are,  if  the  philo- 
sopher was  right  in  defining  true  friendship  to  consist  in 
liking  and  disliking  the  same  things.  You  hate  parsnips 
au  naturel  — so  do  I ; you  love  pates  de  foie  gras,  et 
moi  aussi; — nous  voilct  done  les  meilleurs  amis  du 
mondel 


II.— 13 


“ Guloseten.” 


i46 


PELHAM;  OR, 


So  much  for  my  friend,  thought  I — and  now  for  my 
mother  — opening  the  maternal  epistle,  which  I herewith 
transcribe  : — 

'‘My  dear  Henry, 

“ Lose  no  time  in  coming  to  town.  Every  day  the 
ministers  are  filling  up  the  minor  places,  and  it  requires  a 
great  stretch  of  recollection  in  a politician  to  remember 

the  absent.  Mr.  V said  yesterday,  at  a dinner  party 

where  I was  present,  that  Lord  Dawton  had  promised 

him  the  Borough  of . Now  you  know,  my  dear 

Henry,  that  was  the  very  borough  he  promised  to  you  : 
you  must  see  further  into  this.  Lord  Dawton  is  a good 
sort  of  man  enough,  but  refused  once  to  fight  a duel ; 
therefore,  if  he  has  disregarded  his  honor  in  one  instance, 
he  may  do  so  in  another ; at  all  events,  you  have  no  time 
to  lose. 

“ The  young  Duke  of gives  a ball  to-morrow 

evening  : Mrs.  pays  all  the  expenses,  and  I know 

for  a certainty  that  she  will  marry  him  in  a week  ; this  as 
yet  is  a secret.  There  will  be  a great  mixture,  but  the 
ball  will  be  worth  going  to.  I have  a card  for  you. 

“ Lady  Huffemall  and  I think  that  we  shall  not  patron- 
ze  the  future  duchess ; but  have  not  yet  made  up  our 
minds.  Lady  Roseville,  however,  speaks  of  the  intended 
match  with  great  respect,  and  says  that  since  we  admit 
convenancey  as  the  chief  rule  in  matrimony,  she  never  re- 
members an  instance  in  which  it  has  been  more  consulted. 

“ There  are  to  be  several  promotions  in  the  peerage. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  147 


Lord ’s  friends  wish  to  give  out  that  he  will  have  a 

dukedom  ; mais  fen  doute.  However,  he  has  well  de- 
served it ; for  he  not  only  gives  the  best  dinners  in  town, 
but  the  best  account  of  them  in  the  Morning  Post  after- 
wards ; which  I think  is  very  properly  upholding  the 
dignity  of  our  order. 

hope  most  earnestly  that  you  do  not  (in  your  country 
retreat)  neglect  your  health ; nor,  I may  add,  your  mind  ; 
and  that  you  take  an  opportunity  every  other  day  of 
practising  waltzing,  which  you  can  very  well  do  with  the 
help  of  an  arm-chair.  I would  send  you  down  (did  I not 

expect  you  here  so  soon)  Lord  Mount  E ’s  ^ Musical 

Reminiscences  not  only  because  it  is  a very  entertaining 
book,  but  because  I wish  you  to  pay  much  greater  atten- 
tion to  music  than  you  seem  inclined  to  do.  * * * * who 
is  never  very  refined  in  his  hons  mots,,  says  that  Lord  M. 
seems  to  have  considered  the  world  a concert,  in  which 
the  best  performer  plays  first  fiddle.  It  is,  indeed,  quite 
delightful  to  see  the  veneration  our  musical  friend  has  for 
the  orchestra  and  its  occupants.  I wish  to  heaven,  my 
dear  Henry,  he  could  instil  into  you  a little  of  his  ardor. 
I am  quite  mortified  at  times  by  your  ignorance  of  tunes 
and  operas  : nothing  tells  better  in  conversation  than  a 
knowledge  of  music,  as  you  will  one  day  or  other  discover. 

God  bless  you,  my  dearest  Henry.  Fully  expecting 
you,  I have  sent  to  engage  your  former  rooms  at  Mivart’s  ; 
do  not  let  me  be  disappointed. 

Yours,  &c. 

“ F.  P.’’ 


k48  PELHAM;  OR, 

I read  the  above  letter  twice  over,  and  felt  my  cheek 
glow  and  my  heart  swell  as  I perused  the  passage  relative 
to  Lord  Dawton  and  the  borough.  The  new  minister 
had  certainly,  for  some  weeks  since,  been  playing  a double 
part  with  me  ; it  would  long  ago  have  been  easy  to  procure 
me  a subordinate  situation  — still  easier  to  place  me  in 
parliament;  yet  he  had  contented  himself  with  doubtful 
promises  and  idle  civilities.  What,  however,  seemed  to 
me  most  unaccountable  was,  his  motive  in  breaking  or 
paltering  with  his  engagement ; he  knew  that  I had  served 
him  and  his  party  better  than  half  his  corps  : he  pro- 
fessed, not  only  to  me,  but  to  society,  the  highest  opinion 
of  my  abilities,  knowledge,  and  application  ; he  saw,  con- 
sequently, how  serviceable  I could  be  as  a friend  ; and, 
from  the  same  qualities,  joined  to  the  rank  of  my  birth 
and  connections,  and  the  high  and  resentful  temper  of  my 
mind,  he  might  readily  augur  that  I could  be  equally 
influential  as  a foe. 

With  this  reflection,  I stilled  the  beating  of  my  heart, 
and  the  fever  of  my  pulse.  I crushed  the  obnoxious  letter 
in  my  hand,  walked  thrice  up  and  down  the  room,  paused 
at  the  bell  rang  it  violently  — ordered  post-horses 
instantly,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  was  on  the  road  to 
London. 

How  different  is  the  human  mind,  according  to  the 
difference  of  place  ! In  our  passions,  as  in  our  creeds, 
we  are  the  mere  dependants  of  geographical  situation. 
Nay,  the  trifling  variation  of  a single  mile  will  revolution- 
ize the  whole  tides  and  torrents  of  our  hearts.  The  man 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


149 


who  is  meek,  generous,  benevolent,  and  kind,  in  the  coun- 
try, enters  the  scene  of  contest,  and  becomes  forthwith 
fiery  or  mean,  selfish  or  stern,  just  as  if  the  virtues  were 
only  for  solitude,  and  the  vices  for  the  city.  I have  ill 
expressed  the  above  reflection  ; nHm^orte  — so  much  the 
better  shall  I explain  my  feelings  at  the  time  I speak  of 
— for  I was  then  too  eager  and  engrossed  to  attend  to 
the  niceties  of  words.  On  my  arrival  at  Mivart’s,  I 
scarcely  allowed  myself  time  to  change  my  dress  before 
1 set  out  to  Lord  Dawton.  He  shall  afford  me  an  ex- 
planation, I thought,  or  a recompense,  or  a revenge,  I 
knocked  at  the  door  — the  minister  was  out.  “ Give  him 
this  card,’^  said  I to  the  porter,  and  say  1 shall  call  to- 
morrow at  three.’’ 

I walked  to  Brookes’s  — there  I met  Mr.  V . My 

acquaintance  with  him  was  small;  but  he  was  a man  of 
talent,  and,  what  was  more  to  my  purpose,  of  open  man- 
ners. I went  up  to  him,  and  we  entered  into  conversation 
‘'Is  it  true,”  said  I,  “that  I am  to  congratulate  you  upon 
the  certainty  of  your  return  for  Lord  Dawton’s  borough 
of 

“ I believe  so,”  replied  Y . “ Lord  Dawton  engaged 

it  to  me  last  week,  and  Mr.  H , the  present  member, 

has  accepted  the  Chiltern  Hundreds.  You  know  all  our 
family  supported  Lord  Dawton  warmly  in  the  present 
crisis  and  my  return  for  this  borough  was  materially  in- 
sisted upon.  Such  things  are,  you  see,  Mr.  Pelham,  even 
in  these  virtuous  days  of  parliamentary  purity.” 


13* 


.50 


PELHAM;  OR, 


“ True/’ said  I,  dissembling  my  chagrin,  yourself  and 
Dawton  have  made  an  admirable  exchange.  Think  you 
the  ministry  can  be  said  to  be  fairly  seated  ? ” 

“By  no  means;  everything  depends  upon  the  motion 

of , brought  on  next  week.  Dawton  looks  to  that  as 

to  the  decisive  battle  for  this  session.” 

Lord  Gavelton  now  joined  us,  and  I sauntered  away 
with  the  utmost  (seeming)  indifference.  At  the  top  of 
St.  James’s -street.  Lady  Roseville’s  well-known  carriage 
passed  me  — she  stopped  for  a moment.  “We  shall 

meet  at  the  Duke  of  ’s  to-night,”  said  she,  “shall 

we  not  ? ” 

“ If  you  go  — certainly,”  I replied. 

I went  home  to  my  solitary  apartment ; and  if  I suffered 
somewhat  of  the  torments  of  baffled  hope  and  foiled  am- 
bition, the  pang  is  not  for  the  spectator.  My  lighter 
moments  are  for  the  world  — my  deeper  for  myself;  and, 
like  the  Spartan  boy,  I would  keep  even  in  the  pangs  of 
death,  a mantle  over  the  teeth  and  fangs  which  were  fas- 
tening upon  my  breast. 


I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


151 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

Nocet  empta  dolore  yoluptas. — Ovid, 

The  first  person  I saw  at  the  Duke  of ’s  was  Mr. 

Mivart  — he  officiated  as  gentleman  usher:  the  second 
was  my  mother  — she  was,  as  usual,  surrounded  by  men, 
^‘the  shades  of  heroes  that  have  been,’^  remnants  of  a 
former  day,  when  the  feet  of  the  young  and  fair  Lady 
Frances  were  as  light  as  her  head,  and  she  might  have 
rivalled,  in  the  science  de  la  danse,  even  the  graceful 

Duchess  of  B d.  Over  the  dandies  of  her  own  time 

she  still  preserved  her  ancient  empire  ; and  it  was  amusing 
enough  to  hear  the  address  of  the  ci-devant  jeunes  hommes 
who  continued,  through  habit,  the  compliments  begun 
thirty  years  since  through  admiration. 

My  mother  was,  indeed,  what  the  world  calls  a very 
charming,  agreeable  woman.  Few  persons  were  more 
popular  in  society:  her  manners  were  perfection  — her 
smile  enchantment : she  lived,  moved,  breathed,  only  for 
the  world,  and  the  world  was  not  ungrateful  for  the  con- 
stancy of  her  devotion.  Yet,  if  her  letters  have  given 
my  readers  any  idea  of  her  character,  they  will  perceive 
that  the  very  desire  of  supremacy  in  ton,  gave  (Heaven 
forgive  my  filial  impiety  I)  a sort  of  demi- vulgarism  to 
her  ideas ; for  they  who  live  wholly  for  the  opinion  of 
2n 


152 


PELHAM;  OR, 


others,  always  want  that  self-dignity  which  alone  confers 
a high  cast  upon  the  sentiments  ; and  the  most  really 
unexceptionable  in  mode,  are  frequently  the  least  gen- 
uinely patrician  in  mind. 

I joined  the  maternal  party,  and  Lady  Frances  soon 
took  an  opportunity  of  whispering,  ‘‘You  are  looking 
very  well,  and  very  handsome  ; I declare  you  are  not 
unlike  me,  especially  about  the  eyes.  I have  just  heard 
that  Miss  Glanville  will  be  a great  heiress,  for  poor  Sir 
Reginald  cannot  live  much  longer.  She  is  here  to-night : 
pray  do  not  lose  the  opportunity.’^ 

My  cheek  burned  like  fire  at  this  speech,  and  my 
mother,  quietly  observing  that  I had  a beautiful  color, 
and  ought  therefore  immediately  to  find  out  Miss  Glan- 
ville, lest  it  should  vanish  by  the  least  delay,  turned  from 
me  to  speak  of  a public  breakfast  about  shortly  to  be 
given.  I passed  into  the  dancing-room  ; there  I found 
Yincent ; he  was  in  unusually  good  spirits. 

“Well,”  said  he,  with  a sneer,  “you  have  not  taken 
your  seat  yet.  I suppose  Lord  Dawton’s  representative, 
whose  place  you  are  to  supply,  is  like  Theseus ; sedet  in 
ceternumqiie  sedebit.  A thousand  pities  you  can’t  come 
'in  before  next  week;  we  shall  then  have  fiery  motions 
in  the  Lower  Houses  as  the  astrologers  say.” 

I smiled.  “A/i  mon  cherP'^  said  I,  “Sparta  hatn 
many  a worthier  son  than  me  1 Meanwhile,  how  get  on 
the  noble  Lords  Lesborough  and  Lincoln?  ‘sure  such  a 
pair  were  never  seen,  so  justly  formed  to  meet  by  nature  ! ’ ” 
“ Pooh  ! ” said  Vincent,  coarsely,  “ they  shall  get  on 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


153 


well  enough,  before  you  get  in.  Look  to  yourself,  and 
remember  that  ‘Caesar  plays  the  ingrate. 

Yincent  turned  away  ; my  eyes  were  riveted  on  the 

ground  ; the  beautiful  Lady passed  by  me  : “ What, 

you  in  a reverie  ? said  she,  laughing ; “ our  very  host 
wir.  turn  thoughtful  next  1 

“Nay,’^  said  I,  “in  your  absence  would  you  have  me 
glad  ? However,  if  Moore’s  mythology  be  true  — Beauty 
loves  Folly  the  better  for  borrowing  something  from 
Beason  ; but,  come,  this  is  a place  not  for  the  grave,  but 
the  giddy.  Let  us  join  the  waltzers.” 

“I  am  engaged.” 

“I  know  it  I Do  you  think  I would  dance  with  any 
woman  who  was  not  engaged? — there  would  be  no 
triumph  to  one’s  vanity  in  that  case.  Allons^  you  must 
prefer  me  to  an  engagement ; ” and  so  saying,  I led  off 
my  prize. 

Her  intended  partner  was  Mr.  Y ; just  as  we  had 

joined  the  dancers,  he  spied  us  out,  and  approached  with 
his  long,  serious,  respectful  face  : the  music  struck  up^ 

and  the  next  moment  poor  Y was  very  nearly  struck 

down.  Fraught  with  the  most  political  spite,  I whirled 
up  against  him  ; apologized  with  my  blandest  smile,  and 
left  him  wiping  his  mouth,  and  rubbing  his  shoulder,  the 
most  forlorn  picture  of  Hope  in  adversity,  that  can  pos 
sibly  be  conceived. 

1 soon  grew  weary  of  my  partner,  and,  leaving  her  to 
fate,  rambled  into  another  room.  There,  seated  alone, 
was  Lady  Roseville.  I placed  myself  beside  her ; there 


154 


PELHAM;  OR, 


was  a sort  of  freemasonry  between  her  and  myself ; each 
knew  something  more  of  the  other  than  the  world  did, 
and  read  his  or  her  heart,  by  other  signs  than  words.  I 
soon  saw  that  she  was  in  no  mirthful  mood  : so  much  the 
better  — she  was  the  fitter  companion  for  a baffled  aspirant 
like  me. 

The  room  we  were  in  was  almost  deserted,  and  finding 
ourselves  uninterrupted,  the  stream  of  our  conversation 
flowed  into  sentiment. 

‘‘How  little,’^  said  Lady  Roseville,  ‘‘can  the  crowd 
know  of  the  individuals  who  compose  it  I As  the  most 
opposite  colors  may  be  blended  into  one,  and  so  lose  their 
individual  hues,  and  be  classed  under  a single  name,  so 
every  one  here  will  go  home,  and  speak  of  the  ^ gay 
scene^''  without  thinking  for  a moment,  how  many  breaking 
hearts  may  have  composed  it.” 

“I  have  often  thought,”  said  I,  “how  harsh  we  are 
in  our  judgments  of  others  — how  often  we  accuse  those 
persons  of  being  worldly,  who  merely  seem  so  to  the 
world.  Who,  for  instance,  that  saw  you  in  your  brightest 
moments,  would  ever  suppose  that  you  could  make  the 
confession  you  have  just  made  ? ” 

“ I would  not  make  such  a confession  to  many  beside 
yourself,”  answered  Lady  Roseville.  “Nay,  you  need 
not  thank  me.  I am  some  years  older  than  you  ; I have 
lived  longer  in  the  world  ; I have  seen  much  of  its  various 
characters  ; and  my  experience  has  taught  me  to  penetrate 
and  prize  a character  like  yours.  While  you  seem  frivolous 
to  the  superficial,  I know  you  to  have  a mind  not  only 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  1'55 

capable  of  the  most  solid  and  important  affairs,  but 
habituated  by  reflection  to  consider  them.  You  appear 
effeminate,  I know  that  none  are  more  daring  — indolent, 
none  are  more  actively  ambitious  — utterly  selfish,  and  I 
know  that  no  earthly  interest  could  bribe  you  into  mean- 
ness or  injustice  — no,  nor  even  into  a venial  dereliction 
of  principle.  It  is  from  this  estimate  of  your  character, 
that  I am  frank  and  open  to  you.  Besides,  I recognize 
something  in  the  careful  pride  with  which  you  conceal 
your  higher  and  deeper  feelings,  resembling  the  strongest 
actuating  principle  in  my  own  mind.  All  this  interests 
me  warmly  in  your  fate ; may  it  be  as  bright  as  my  pre- 
sentiments forebode  ! 

I looked  into  the  beautiful  face  of  the  speaker  as  she 
concluded  ; perhaps,  at  that  solitary  moment,  my  heart 
was  unfaithful  to  Ellen  ; but  the  infidelity  passed  away 
like  the  breath  from  the  mirror.  Coxcomb  as  I was,  I 
knew  well  how  passionless  was  the  interest  expressed  for 
me.  Hover  as  I had  been,  I knew  also,  how  pure  may 
be  the  friendship  of  a woman, — provided  she  loves 
another! 

I thanked  Lady  Roseville,  warmly,  for  her  opinion. 
“Perhaps,’’  I added,  “dared  I solicit  your  advice,  you 
would  not  find  me  wholly  undeserving  of  your  esteem.” 

“My  advice,”  answered  Lady  Roseville,  “would  be, 
milled,  worse  than  useless,  were  it  not  regulated  by  a 
certain  knowledge  which,  perhaps,  you  do  not  possess. 
You  seem  surprised.  Eh  Men;  listen  to  me  — are  you 
not  in  no  small  degree  with  Lord  Dawton  ? — do  you 


Ib6  PELHAM;  OR, 

not  expect  something  from  him  worthy  of  your  rank  and 
merit  ? ’’ 

“You  do,  indeed,  surprise  me,’^  said  I.  “However 
close  my  connection  with  Lord  Dawton  may  be,  I thought 
It  much  more  secret  than  it  appears  to  be.  However,  I 
own  that  I have  a right  to  expect  from  Lord  Dawton, 
not,  perhaps,  a recompense  of  service,  but,  at  least,  a 
fulfilment  of  promises.  In  this  expectation  I begin  to 
believe  I shall  be  deceived.” 

“You  will!”  answered  Lady  Roseville.  “Bend  your 
head  lower  — the  walls  have  ears.  You  have  a friend, 
an  unwearied  and  earnest  friend,  with  those  now  in  power  ; 

directly  he  heard  that  Mr.  V was  promised  the 

borough,  which  he  knew  had  been  long  engaged  to  you, 
he  went  straight  to  Lord  Dawton.  He  found  him  with 
Lord  Clandonald  : however,  he  opened  the  matter  im- 
mediately. He  spoke  with  great  warmth  of  your  claims 
— he  did  more  — he  incorporated  them  with  his  own, 
which  are  of  no  mean  order,  and  asked  no  other  recom- 
pense for  himself  than  the  fulfilment  of  a long-made 
promise  to  you.  Dawton  was  greatly  confused,  and  Lord 
Clandonald  replied,  for  him,  that  certainly  there  was  no 
denying  your  talents  — that  they  were  very  great  — that 
you  had,  unquestionably,  been  of  much  service  to  their 
party,  and  that,  consequently,  it  must  be  politic  to  attach 
you  to  their  interests;  but  that  there  was  a certain 
and  assumption,  and  he  might  say  (mark  the  climax) 
independence  about  you,  which  could  not  but  be  highly 
displeasing  in  one  so  young ; moreover,  that  it  was  im- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


157 


possible  to  trust  to  you  — that  you  pledged  yourself  to 
no  party  — that  you  spoke  only  of  conditions  and  terras 
— that  you  treated  the  proposal  of  placing  you  in  Par- 
liament rather  as  a matter  of  favor  on  your  part  than  on 
Lord  Dawton’s  — and,  in  a word,  that  there  was  no 
relying  upon  you.  Lord  Dawton  then  took  courage,  and 

chimed  in,  with  a long  panegyric  on  Y , and  a long 

account  of  what  was  due  to  him,  and  to  the  zeal  of  his 
family:  adding,  that,  in  a crisis  like  this,  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  engage  a certain  rather  than  a doubtful  and 
undecided  support ; that,  for  his  part,  if  he  placed  you  in 
Parliament,  he  thought  you  quite  as  likely  to  prove  a foe 
as  a friend  ; that  owing  to  the  marriage  of  your  uncle, 
your  expectations  were  by  no  means  commensurate  with 
your  presumption,  and  that  the  same  talents  which  made 
your  claims  to  favor  as  an  ally,  created  also  no  small 
danger  in  placing  you  in  any  situation  where  you  could 
become  hurtful  as  an  enemy.  All  this,  and  much  more 
to  the  same  purpose,  was  strenuously  insisted  upon  by  the 
worthy  pair ; and  your  friend  was  obliged  to  take  his 
leave,  perfectly  convinced  that,  unless  you  assumed  a more 
complaisant  bearing,  or  gave  a more  decided  pledge,  to 
the  new  minister,  it  was  hopeless  for  you  to  expect  any- 
thing from  him,  at  least  for  the  present.  The  fact  is, 
he  stands  too  much  in  awe  of  you,  and  would  rather  keep 
you  out  of  the  House  than  contribute  an  iota  towards 
obtaining  you  a seat.  Upon  all  this  you  may  rely  as 
certain. 

**  I thank  you  from  my  heart,”  said  I warmly,  seizinp^ 

11.  — 14 


PELHAM;  OR, 


16S 

and  pressing  Lady  Roseville’s  hand.  You  tell  me  what 
I have  long  suspected  ; I am  now  upon  my  guard,  and 
they  shall  find  that  I can  o/ferid  as  well  as  defend.  But 
it  is  no  time  for  me  to  boast ; oblige  me  by  informing 
me  of  the  name  of  my  unknown  friend  ; I little  thought 
there  was  a being  in  the  world  who  would  stir  three  steps 
for  Henry  Pelham.’^ 

That  friend,”  replied  Lady  Roseville,  with  a faltering 
voice  and  a glowing  cheek,  was  Sir  Reginald  Glanville.” 

What  I”  cried  I,  “repeat  the  name  to  me  again,  or 
— ” I paused,  and  recovered  myself.  “ Sir  Reginald 
Glanville,”  I resumed  haughtily,  “is  too  gracious  to 
enter  into  my  affairs.  I must  be  strangely  altered  if  I 
need  the  officious  zeal  of  any  intermeddler  to  redress  my 
wrongs.” 

“ Nay,  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  the  countess,  hastily,  “you 
do  Glanville  — you  do  yourself  injustice.  For  him,  there 
never  passes  a day  in  which  he  does  not  mention  you  with 
the  highest  encomiums  and  the  most  affectionate  regard. 
He  says  of  late,  that  you  have  altered  towards  him,  but 
that  he  is  not  surprised  at  the  change  — he  never  mentions 
the  cause  ; if  I am  not  intruding,  suffer  me  to  inquire  into 
it ; perhaps  (oh  ! how  happy  it  would  make  me)  I may  be 
able  to  reconcile  yoii ; if  you  knew  — if  you  could  but 
guess  half  of  the  noble  and  lofty  character  of  Reginald 
Glanville,  you  would  suffer  no  petty  difference  to  divide 
you.” 

“It  is  no  petty  difference,”  said  I,  rising,  “nor  am  I 
permitted  to  mention  the  cause.  Meanwhile,  may  God 


adventures  of  a gentleman. 


153 


bless  you,  dearest  Lady  Roseville,  and  preserve  that  kind 
and  generous  heart  from  worse  pangs  than  those  of  dis- 
appointed ambition,  or  betrayed  trust.” 

Lady  Roseville  looked  down  — her  bosom  heaved  vi- 
olently ; she  felt  the  meaning  of  my  words.  I left  her,  and 
returned  home. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

Good  Mr.  Knave  give  me  my  due, 

I like  a tart  as  well  as  you; 

But  I would  starve  on  good  roast  beef, 

Ere  I would  look  so  like  a thief. — The  Queen  of  Hearts, 

Nunc  vino  pellite  curas ; 

Cras  ingens  iterabimus  gequor. — Hor. 

The  next  morning  I received  a note  from  Guloseton, 
asking  me  to  dine  with  him  at  eight,  to  meet  his  chev- 
reuil.  I sent  back  an  answer  in  the  afiSrmative,  and  then 
gave  myself  wholly  up  to  considering  what  was  the  best 
line  of  conduct  to  pursue  with  regard  to  Lord  Dawton. 
“It  would  be  pleasant  enough,”  said  Anger,  “to  go  to 
him,  to  ask  him  boldly  for  the  borough  so  often  pledged 
to  you,  and,  in  case  of  his  refusal,  to  confront,  to  taunt, 
and  to  break  wdth  him.”  “ True,”  replied  that  more  homely 
and  less  stage-effect  arguer,  which  we  term  Knowledge 
of  the  World  ; “ but  this  would  be  neither  useful  nor  dig- 
uified  — common  sense  never  quarrels  with  any  one.  Call 


IGO 


PELHAM;  OR, 


upon  Lord  Dawton,  if  you  will  — ask  him  for  his  promise, 
with  your  second-best  smile,  and  receive  his  excuses  with 
your  very  best.  Then  do  as  you  please  — break  with  him 
or  not  — you  can  do  either  with  grace  and  quiet;  never 
make  a scene  about  anything  — reproach  and  anger  always 
do  make  a scene.”  ‘‘Very  true,”  said  I,  in  answer  to  the 
latter  suggestion  — and  having  made  up  my  mind,  I re- 
paired a quarter  before  three  t5  Lord  Dawton^s  house. 

“Ah,  Pelham,”  said  the  little  minister,  “ delighted  to 
see  you  look  so  much  the  better  from  the  country  air  ; 
you  will  stay  in  town  now,  I hope,  till  the  end  of  the 
season  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  Lord  Dawton,  or,  at  all  events,  till  the 
prorogation  of  Parliament ; how,  indeed,  could  I do  other- 
wise, with  your  lordship’s  kind  promise  before  my  eyes  ? 

Mr. , the  member  for  your  borough  of , has,  I 

believe,  accepted  the  Chiltern  Hundreds  ? I feel  truly 
obliged  to  you  for  so  promptly  fulfilling  your  promise  to 
me.” 

“ Hem  ! my  dear  Pelham,  hem  ! ” murmured  Lord 
Dawton.  I bent  forward  as  if  in  the  attitude  of  listening 
respect,  but  really  the  more  clearly  to  perceive,  and  closely 
to  enjoy,  his  confusion.  He  looked  up  and  caught  my 
eye,  and  not  being  too  much  gratified  with  its  involuntary 
expression,  he  grew  more  and  more  embarrassed ; at  last 
he  summoned  courage. 

“ Why,  my  dear  Sir,”  he  said,  “ I did,  it  is  true,  promise 
you  that  borough ; but  individual  friendship  must  fre- 
quently be  sacrificed  to  the  public  good.  All  our  party 


ADVENTURES  OF  A OENT LEMAN. 


16- 


insisted  upon  returning  Mr.  Y in  place  of  the  late 

member:  what  could  Ido?  I mentioned  your  claims; 
they  all,  to  a man,  enlarged  upon  your  rival’s:  to  be  sure 
he  is  an  older  person,  and  his  family  is  very  powerful  in 
the  Lower  House  : in  short,  you  perceive,  my  dear  Pelham 
— that  is,  you  are  aware  — you  can  feel  for  the  delicacy 
of  my  situation  — one  could  not  appear  too  eager  for 
one’s  own  friends  at  first,  and  I was  forced  to  concede” 
Lord  Dawton  was  now  fairly  delivered  of  his  speech  ; 
it  was  therefore,  only  left  me  to  congratulate  him  on  his 
offspring. 

My  dear  lord,”  I began,  you  could  not  have  pleased 

me  better  : Mr.  Y is  a most  estimable  man,  and  I 

would  not,  for  the  world,  have  had  you  suspected  of  placing 
such  a trifle  as  your  own  honor  — that  is  to  say  — your 
promise  to  me,  before  the  commands  — that  is  to  say,  the 
interests  — of  your  party  ; but  no  more  of  this  now.  Was 

your  lordship  at  the  Duke  of ’s  last  night  ? ” 

Dawton  seized  joyfully  the  opportunity  of  changing  the 
conversation,  and  we  talked  and  laughed  on  indifferent 
matters  till  1 thought  it  time  to  withdraw  ; this  I did  with 
the  most  cordial  appearance  of  regard  and  esteem  ; nor 
was  it  till  I had  fairly  set  my  foot  out  of  his  door,  that  I 
suffered  myself  to  indulge  the  black  bile  ” at  my  breast. 
1 turned  towards  the  Green  Park,  and  was  walking  slowly 
along  the  principal  mall  with  my  hand  behind  me,  and 
my  eyes  on  the  ground,  when  I heard  my  own  name 
uttered.  On  looking  back,  I perceived  Lord  Yincent  on 
horseback ; he  stopped  and  conversed  with  me.  In  the 
U* 


162 


PELHAM;  OR 


humor  I was  in  with  Lord  Dawton,  I received  him  with 
greater  warmth  than  I had  done  of  late  ; and  he  also, 
being  in  a social  mood,  seemed  so  well  satisfied  with  our 
rencontre^  and  my  behavior,  that  he  dismounted  to  walk 
with  me. 

This  park  is  a very  different  scene  now,”  said  Yincent, 
from  what  it  was  in  the  times  of  ‘ The  Merry  Monarch  ; ’ 
yet  it  is  still  a spot  much  more  to  my  taste  than  its  more 
gaudy  and  less  classical  brother  of  Hyde  There  is  some- 
thing pleasingly  melancholy,  in  walking  over  places  haunt- 
ed by  history ; for  all  of  us  live  more  in  the  past  than  the 
present.” 

‘‘And  how  exactly  alike  in  all  ages,”  said  I,  “ men  have 
been  I On  the  very  spot  we  are  on  now,  how  many  have 
been  actuated  by  the  same  feelings  that  now  actuate  us 

— how  many  have  made  perhaps  exactly  the  same  remark 
just  made  by  you  ! It  is  this  universal  identity,  which 
forms  our  most  powerful  link  with  those  that  have  been 

— there  is  a satisfaction  in  seeing  how  closely  we  resemble 
the  Agamemnons  of  gone  times,  and  we  take  care  to  lose 
none  of  it,  by  thinking  how  closely  we  also  resemble  the 
Thersiteses.” 

“ True,”  replied  V^incent : “ if  wise  and  great  men  did 
but  know  how  little  difference  there  is  between  them  and 
the  foolish  or  the  mean,  they  would  not  take  such  pains 
to  be  wise  and  great ; to  use  the  Chinese  proverb,  ‘ they 
sacrifice  a picture,  to  get  possession  of  its  ashes.’  It  is 
almost  a pity  that  the  desire  to  advance  should  be  so 
necessary  to  our  being  ; ambition  is  often  a fine,  but  never 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  163 


a felicitous  feeling.  Cyprian,  in  a beautiful  passage  on 
envy,  calls  it  Hhe  moth  of  the  soul  : ^ but  perhaps,  even 
that  passion  is  less  gnawing,  less  a ' tabes  pectoris than 
ambition.  You  are  surprised  at  my  heat  — the  fact  is,  I 
am  enraged  at  thinking  how  much  we  forfeit,  when  we 
look  up  only,  and  trample  unconsciously,  in  the  blindness 
of  our  aspiration,  on  the  affections  which  strew  our  path. 
Now,  you  and  I have  been  utterly  estranged  from  each 
other  of  late.  Why  ? — for  any  dispute  — any  disagree- 
ment in  private  — any  discovery  of  meanness  — treachery, 
unworthiness  in  the  other  ? No  ! merely  because  I dine 
with  Lord  Lincoln,  and  you  with  Lord  Lawton  voila  tout. 
Well  say  the  Jesuits,  that  they  who  live  for  the  public 
must  renounce  all  private  ties;  the  very  day  w^e  become 
citizens,  we  are  to  cease  to  be  men.  Our  privacy  is  like 
Leu  Decimus  ; directly  it  dies,  all  peace,  comfort,  joy,  and 
sociality  are  to  die  with  it : and  an  iron  age,  * harbara  vis 
et  dira  malorum  omnium  incommoda  ^ to  succeed.’^ 

“It  is  a pity  that  we  struck  into  different  paths,’’  said 
I : “no  pleasure  would  have  been  to  me  greater  than 
making  our  political  interests  the  same  ; but — ” 

“Perhaps  there  is  no  but,”  interrupted  Yincent ; 
“ perhaps,  like  the  two  knights  in  the  hackneyed  story, 
we  are  only  giving  different  names  to  the  same  shield, 
because  we  view  it  on  different  sides ; let  us  also  imitate 
them  in  their  reconciliation,  as  well  as  their  quarrel,  and 
since  we  have  already  run  our  lances  against  each  other, 
be  convinced  of  our  error,  and  make  up  our  difference.” 

I was  silent ; indeed,  I did  not  like  to  trust  myself  to 
speak.  Yincent  continued  : — 


PELHAM;  OR, 


lU 

I know,’^  said  he,  and  it  is  in  vain  for  you  to  cor.oeal 

it,  that  you  have  been  ill-used  by  Dawton.  Mr.  Y is 

my  first-cousin  ; he  came  to  me  the  day  after  the  borough 
was  given  to  him,  and  told  me  all  that  Clandonald  and 
Dawton  had  said  to  him  at  the  time.  Believe  me,  they 
did  not  spare  you;  — the  former  you  have  grieviously 
offended  ; you  know  that  he  has  quarrelled  irremediably 
with  his  son  Dartraore,  and  he  insists  that  you  are  the 
friend  and  abettor  of  that  ingenuous  youth,  in  all  his  de- 
baucheries and  extravagance  — tu  ilium  corrumpi  sinis. 
I tell  you  this  without  hesitation,  for  I know  you  are  less 
vain  than  ambitious,  and  I do  not  care  about  hurting  you 
in  the  one  point,  if  I advance  you  in  the  other.  As  for 
me,  I own  to  you  candidly  and  frankly,  that  there  are  no 
pains  I would  spare  to  secure  you  to  our  party.  Join  us, 
and  you  shall,  as  I have  often  said,  be  on  the  parliamen- 
tary benches  of  our  corps,  without  a moment  of  unnecessary 
delay.  More  I cannot  promise  you,  because  I cannot 
promise  more  to  myself ; but  from  that  instant  your  fortune, 
if  I augur  aught  aright  from  your  ability,  will  be  in  your 
hands.  You  shake  your  head  — surely  you  must  see  that 
our  differences  are  not  vehement  — it  is  a difference  not 
of  measures,  but  men.  There  is  but  a verbal  disagreement 
between  us  ; and  we  must  own  the  wisdom  of  the  sentence 
recorded  in  Aulus  Gellius,  that  'he  is  but  a madman, 
who  splits  the  weight  of  things  upon  the  hair-breadths 
of  words.’  You  laugh  at  the  quaintness  of  the  quotation  ; 
quaint  proverbs  are  of  the  truest.” 

If  my  reader  should  think  lightly  of  me,  when  I own 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


165 


that  I felt  wavering  and  irresolute  at  the  end  of  this 
speech,  let  him  for  a moment  place  himself  in  rny  situa  ion 
— let  him  feel  indignant  at  the  treachery,  the  injustice, 
the  ingratitude  of  one  man  ; and,  at  the  very  height  of  his 
resentment,  let  him  be  soothed,  flattered,  courted,  by  the 
offered  friendship  and  favor  of  another.  Let  him  per- 
sonally despise  the  former,  and  esteem  the  latter  ; and  let 
him,  above  all,  be  convinced,  as  well  as  persuaded,  of  the 
truth  of  Vincent’s  hint,  viz.,  that  no  sacrifice  of  principle, 
nor  of  measures,  was  required — nothing  but  an  alliance 
against  men,  not  measures.  And  who  were  those  men  ? 
bound  to  me  by  a single  tie  — meriting  from  my  gratitude 
a single  consideration  ? No  ! the  men,  above  all  others, 
who  had  offered  me  the  greatest  affront,  and  deserved  from 
me  the  smallest  esteem. 

But,  however  human  feelings  might  induce  me  to  waver^ 
I felt  that  it  was  not  by  them  only  I wms  to  decide.  1 
am  not  a man  whose  vices  or  virtues  are  regulated  by  the 
impulse  and  passion  of  the  moment  : if  I am  quick  to  act 
I am  habitually  slow  to  deliberate.  I turned  to  Vincent, 
and  pressed  his  hand  : “ I dare  not  trust  myself  to  answer 
you  now,”  said  I : “give  me  till  to-morrow ; I shall  then 
have  both  considered  and  determined.” 

I did  not  wait  for  his  reply.  I sprang  from  him,  turned 
down  the  passage  which  leads  to  Pall  Mall,  and  hastened 
heme  once  more  to  commune  witfi  my  own  heart,  and  — 
not  to  be  still. 

In  these  confessions  I have  made  no  scruple  of  owning 
my  errors  and  my  foibles  ; all  that  could  occasion  mirth 


166 


PELHAM;  OR 


or  benefit  to  the  reader  were  his  own.  I have  kept  a veil 
over  the  darker  and  stormier  emotions  of  my  soul ; all 
that  could  neither  amuse  nor  instruct  him  are  wine! 

Hours  passed  on  — it  became  time  to  dress  — I rang 
for  Bedos  — dressed  as  usual  — great  emotions  interfere 
little  with  the  mechanical  operations  of  life  — and  drove 
to  Guloseton’s. 

He  was  unusually  entertaining ; the  dinner  too  was  un- 
usually good ; but,  thinking  that  I was  suflBciently  intimate 
with  my  host  not  to  be  obliged  to  belie  my  feelings,  I 
remained  distrait^  absent,  and  dull. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  friend  ? said  the 
good-natured  epicure  ; ‘‘you  have  neither  applauded  my 
jokes,  nor  tasted  my  escallopes  ; aftd  your  behavior  has 
trifled  alike  with  my  chcvreuil  and  my  feelings  ? — The 

proverb  is  right,  in  saying  “ Grief  is  communicative.’^  I 
confess  that  I was  eager  to  unbosom  myself  to  one  upon 
whose  confidence  I could  depend.  Guloseton  heard  me  with 
great  attention  and  interest  — “ Little,”  said  he,  kindly, 
“ little  as  I care  for  these  matters  myself,  I can  feel  for 
those  who  do : I wish  I could  serve  you  better  than  by 
advice.  However,  you  cannot,  I imagine,  hesitate  to 
accept  Vincent’s  offer.  What  matters  it  whether  you  sit 
on  one  bench  or  on  another,  so  that  you  do  not  sit  in  a 
thorough  draught  — or  dine  at  Lord  Lincoln’s,  or  Lord 
Dawton’s,  so  long  as  the  cooks  are  equally  good  ? As 
for  Dawton,  I always  thought  him  a shuffling,  mean  fellow, 
who  buys  his  wines  at  the  second  price,  and  sells  his  oflicea 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


16T 


at  the  first.  Come,  my  dear  fellow,  let  us  drink  to  his 
confusion.” 

So  saying,  Guloseton  filled  my  glass  to  the  brim.  He 
had  sympathized  with  me  — I thought  it,  therefore,  my 
duty  to  sympathize  with  him  ; nor  did  we  part  till  the 
eyes  of  the  hon  vivant  saw  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth,  than  are  dreamt  of  in  the  philosophy  of  the  sober 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

Si  ad  honestatem  nati  sumus,  ea  aut  sola  expetenda  est, 

aut  certe  omni  poudere  gravior  est  habenda  quam  reliqua  omnia. 

Tully, 

Oas.  Brutus,  I do  observe  you  now  of  late: 

I have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness 

And  show  of  love  as  I was  wont  to  have. — Julius  Coesar. 

I ROSE  at  my  usual  early  hour  ; sleep  had  tended  to 
calm,  and,  I hope,  also,  to  better,  my  feelings.  I had  now 
leisure  to  reflect,  that  I had  not  embraced  ray  party  from 
any  private  or  interested  motive  ; it  was  not,  therefore, 
from  a private  or  interested  motive  that  I was  justified  in 
deserting  it.  Our  passions  are  terrible  sophists  1 When 
Vincent  had  told  me,  the  day  before,  that  it  was  from 
men,  not  measures,  that  I was  to  change,  and  that  such  a 
change  could  scarcely  deserve  the  name,  my  heart  adopted 
the  assertion,  and  fancied  it  into  truth. 

I now  began  to  perceive  the  delusion  ; were  government 

2i 


168 


P E L HA  M ; OR 


as  mechanically  perfect  as  it  has  never  yet  been  (but  as 
I trust  it  may  yet  be),  it  would  signify  little  who  were 
the  mere  machines  that  regulated  its  springs : but  in  a 
constitution  like  ours,  the  chief  character  of  which  — 
pardon  me,  ye  De  Lolmeites  — is  its  uncertainty;  where 
men  invariably  make  the  measures  square  to  the  dimen- 
sions of  their  own  talent  or  desire  ; and  where,  reversing 
the  maxim  of  the  tailor,  the  measures  so  rarely  make  the 
men  ; it  required  no  penetration  to  see  how  dangerous  it 
was  to  entrust  to  the  aristocratic  prejudice  of  Lincoln,  or 
the  vehement  imbecility  of  Lesborough,  the  execution  of 
the  very  same  measures  which  might  safely  be  committed 
to  the  plain  sense  of  Dawton,  and,  above  all,  to  the  great 
and  various  talents  of  his  coadjutors.  But  what  made 
the  vital  difference  between  the  two  parties  was  less  in  the 
leaders  than  the  body.  In  the  Dawton  faction,  the  best, 
the  purest,  the  wisest  of  the  day  were  enrolled  ; they  took 
upon  themselves  the  origin  of  all  the  active  measures,  and 
Lord  Dawton  was  the  mere  channel  through  which  those 
measures  flowed  ; the  plain,  the  unpretending,  and  some- 
what feeble  character  of  Lord  Dawton’s  mind,  readily 
conceded  to  the  abler  components  of  his  party  the  author- 
ity it  was  so  desirable  that  they  should  exert.  In  Vincent’s 
party,  with  the  exception  of  himself,  there  was  scarcely  an 
individual  with  the  honesty  requisite  for  loving  the  pro- 
jects they  affected  to  propose,  or  the  talents  that  were 
necessary  for  carrying  them  into  effect,  even  were  their 
wishes  sincere  ; nor  was  either  the  haughty  Lincoln,  or 
his  noisy  and  overbearing  companion,  Lesborough,  at 


adventures  op  a gentleman.  169 

All  of  a temper  to  suffer  that  quiet,  yet  powerful  inter- 
ference of  others,  to  which  Dawton  unhesitatingly  sub- 
mitted. 

I was  the  more  resolved  to  do  all  possible  justice  to 
Dawton’s  party,  from  the  inclination  I naturally  had  to 
lean  towards  the  other ; and  in  all  matters,  where  private 
pit^ue  or  self-interest  can  possibly  penetrate,  it  has  ever 
been  the  object  of  my  consideration  to  direct  iny 

particular  attention  to  that  side  of  the  question  which  such 
undue  partisans  are  the  least  likely  to  espouse.  While  I 
was  gradually,  but  clearly,  feeling  my  way  to  a decision,  I 
received  the  following  note  from  Guloseton  : — 

“ I said  nothing  to  you  last  night  of  what  is  now  to  be 
the  subject  of  my  letter,  lest  you  should  suppose  it  arose 
rather  from  the  heat  of  an  extempore  convivality,  than  its 
real  source,  viz.,  a sincere  esteem  for  your  mind,  a sincere 
affection  for  your  heart,  and  a sincere  sympathy  in  your 
resentment  and  your  interest. 

They  tell  me  that  Lord  Dawton’s  triumph  or  discom- 
fiture rests  entirely  upon  the  success  of  the  motion  upon 

, brought  before  the  House  of  Commons,  on  the 

. I care,  you  know,  very  little,  for  my  oivn 

part,  which  way  this  question  is  decided  ; do  not  think, 
therefore,  that  I make  any  sacrifice  when  I request  you  to 
suffer  me  to  follow  your  advice  in  the  disposal  of  my  four 
votes.  I imagine,  of  course,  that  you  would  wish  them  to 
adopt  the  contrary  side  to  Lord  Dawton  ; and  upon  re 
ceiving  a line  from  you  to  that  effect,  they  shall  be  em- 
powered to  do  so 
II.  — Id 


170 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Pray,  oblige  me  also  by  taking  the  merit  of  this 
measure  upon  yourself,  and  saying  (wherever  it  may  be 
useful  to  you,)  how  entirely  both  the  voters  and  their 
influence  are  at  your  disposal.  I trust  we  shall  yet  play 
the  Bel  to  this  Dragon,  and  fell  him  from  his  high  places. 

Pity  me,  my  dear  friend  ; I dine  out  to-day,  and  feel 
already,  by  an  intuitive  shudder,  that  the  soup  will  be 
cold  and  the  sherry  hot.  Adieu. 

“Ever  your’s, 

“ Guloseton.’^ 

Now,  then,  my  triumph,  my  vanity,  and  my  revenge 
might  be  fully  gratified.  I had  before  me  a golden  op- 
portunity of  displaying  my  own  power,  and  of  humbling 
that  of  the  minister.  My  heart  swelled  high  at  the  thought. 
Let  it  be  forgiven  me,  if,  for  a single  moment,  my  previous 
calculations  and  morality  vanished  from  my  mind,  and  I 
saw  only  the  offer  of  Vincent,  and  the  generosity  of  Gu- 
loseton.  But  I checked  the  risings  of  my  heart,  and 
compelled  my  proud  spirit  to  obedience, 

I placed  Guloseton’s  letter  before  me,  and,  as  I read  it 
once  more  in  order  to  reply  to  it,  the  disinterested  kind- 
ness and  delicacy  of  one,  whom  I had  long,  in  the  injustice 
of  my  thoughts,  censured  as  selfish,  came  over  me  so 
forcibly,  and  contrasted  so  deeply  with  the  hollowness 
of  friends  more  sounding,  alike  in  their  profession  and 
their  creeds,  that  the  tears  rushed  to  my  eyes. 

A thousand  misfortunes  are  less  affecting  than  a single 
kindness. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 

I wrote,  in  answer,  a warm  and  earnest  letter  of  thanks 
for  an  offer,  the  kindness  of  which  penetrated  me  to  the 
soul.  I detailed  at  some  length  the  reasons  which  induced 
me  to  the  decision  I had  taken  ; I sketched  also  the  nature 
of  the  very  important  motion  about  to  be  brought  before 
the  House,  and  deduced  from  that  sketch  the  impossibility 
of  conscientiously  opposing  Lord  Dawton’s  party  in  the 
debate.  I concluded  with  repeating  the  expressions  my 
gratitude  suggested  ; and,  after  declining  all  interference 
with  Lord  Guloseton’s  votes,  ventured  to  add,  that  had  T 
interfered,  it  would  have  been  in  support  of  Dawton  ; n^.  t 
as  a man,  but  a minister  — not  as  an  individual  friend, 
but  a public  servant. 

I had  just  despatched  this  letter  when  Vincent  entered  ; 
I acquainted  him,  though  in  the  most  respectful  and 
friendly  terms,  with  my  determination.  He  seemed  greatly 
disappointed,  and  endeavored  to  shake  my  resolution  ; 
finding  this  was  in  vain,  he  appeared  at  last  satisfied,  and 
even  affected  with  my  reasons.  When  we  parted,  it  was 
with  a promise,  confirmed  by  both,  that  no  public  variance 
should  ever  again  alter  our  private  opinion  of  each  other. 

When  I was  once  more  alone,  and  saw  myself  brought 
back  to  the  very  foot  of  the  ladder  I had  so  far  and  so 
fortunately  climbed  ; when  I saw  that,  rejecting  all  the 
overtures  of  my  friends,  I was  left  utterly  solitary  and 
unaided  among  my  foes  — when  I looked  beyond,  and 
saw  no  faint  loop-hole  of  hope,  no  single  stepping-stone 
on  which  to  recommence  my  broken  but  unwearied  career 
• — peihaps  one  oang  of  resrret  and  repentance  at  rav 


172 


PELHAM;  OR, 


determinution  came  across  me  : but  there  is  something 
marvellously  restorative  in  a good  conscience,  and  one 
soon  learns  to  look  with  hope  to  the  future,  when  one  carx 
feel  justified  in  turning  with  pride  to  the  past. 

My  horse  came  to  the  door  at  my  usual  hour  for 
riding  ; with  what  gladness  I sprang  upon  his  back,  felt 
the  free  wind  freshening  over  my  fevered  cheek,  and  turned 
my  rein  towards  the  green  lanes  that  border  the  great 
city  on  its  western  side.  I know  few  counsellors  more 
exhilarating  than  a spirited  horse.  I do  not  wonder 
that  the  Roman  emperor  made  a consul  of  his  steed.  On 
horseback  I always  best  feel  my  powers,  and  survey  my 
resources  : on  horseback  I always  originate  my  subtlest 
schemes,  and  plan  their  ablest  execution.  Give  me  but 
a light  rein,  and  a free  bound,  and  I am  Cicero  — Cato 

— Caesar;  dismount  me,  and  I become  a mere  clod  of 
the  earth  which  you  condemn  me  to  touch  : fire,  energy, 
ethereality,  have  departed  ; I am  the  soil  without  the  sun 

— the  cask  without  the  wine  — the  garments  without  the 
man. 

I returned  homewards  wdth  increased  spirits  and  collect- 
ed thoughts  : I urged  my  mind  from  my  own  situation, 
and  suffered  it  to  rest  upon  what  Lady  Roseville  had  told 
me  of  Reginald  Glanville’s  interference  in  my  behalf.  That 
extraordinary  man  still  continued  powerfully  to-  excite 
my  interest ; nor  could  I dwell,  without  some  yearning 
of  the  kindlier  affections,  upon  his  unsolicited,  and,  but 
for  Lady  Roseville’s  communication,  unknown  exertions 
in  my  cause.  Although  the  officers  of  justice  were  still 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


173 


actively  employed  in  the  pursuit  of  Tyrrell’s  murderer, 
and  although  the  newspapers  were  still  full  of  speculations 
on  their  indifferent  success,  public  curiosity  had  begun  to 
dag  upon  the  inquiry.  I had,  once  or  twice,  been  in 
Glanville’s  company  when  the  murder  was  brought  upon 
the  tapis,  and  narrowly  examined  his  behavior  upon  a 
subject  which  touched  him  so  fearfully.  I could  not, 
however,  note  any  extraordinary  confusion  or  change 
in  his  countenance  ; perhaps  the  pale  cheek  grew  some- 
what paler,  the  dreaming  eye  more  abstracted,  and  the 
absent  spirit  more  wandering  than  before ; but  many 
other  causes  than  guilt  could  account  for  signs  so  doubtful 
and  minute. 

^^You  shall  soon  know  all,”  the  last  words  which  he 
had  addressed  to  me,  yet  rang  in  my  ears  ; and  most  in- 
tensely did  1 anticipate  the  fulfilment  of  this  promise.  My 
hopes  too  — those  flatterers,  so  often  the  pleasing  antithe- 
ses of  reason  — whispered  that  this  was  not  the  pledge 
of  a guilty  man  ; and  y®t  he  had  said  to  Lady  Roseville, 
that  he  did  not  wonder  at  my  estrangement  from  him: 
such  words  seemed  to  require  a less  favorable  construction 
than  those  he  had  addressed  to  me ; and,  in  making  this 
mental  remark,  another,  of  no  flattering  nature  to  Gian- 
fille’s  disinterestedness,  suggested  itself ; might  not  his 
interference  for  me  with  Lord  Dawton,  arise  rather  from 
policy  than  friendship  ? — might  it  not  occur  to  him,  if,  as 
I surmised,  he  was  acquainted  with  my  suspicions,  and 
acknowledged  their  dreadful  justice,  that  it  would  be 
advisable  to  propitiate  my  silence  ? Such  were  among 
15* 


174 


PELHAM;  OR, 


the  thousand  thoughts  which  flashed  across*  me,  and  left 
mj  speculations  in  debate  and  doubt. 

Nor  did  my  reflections  pass  unnoticed  the  nature  of 
Lady  Roseville’s  affection  for  Glanville.  From  the  seeming 
coldness  and  austerity  of  Sir  Reginald’s  temperament,  it 
was  likely  that  this  was  innocent,  at  least  in  act;  and 
there  was  also  something  guileless  in  the  manner  in  which 
she  appeared  rather  to  exult  in,  than  to  conceal,  her 
attachment.  True  that  she  was  bound  by  no  ties ; she 
had  neither  husband  nor  children,  for  whose  sake  love 
became  a crime  : free  and  unfettered,  if  she  gave  her  heart 
to  Glanville,  it  was  also  allowable  to  render  the  gift 
lawful  and  perpetual  by  the  blessing  of  the  church. 

Alas  I how  little  can  woman,  shut  up  in  her  narrow 
and  limited  circle  of  duties,  know  of  the  wandering  life 
and  various  actions  of  her  lover  ! Little,  indeed,  could 
Lady  Roseville,  when,  in  the  heat  of  enthusiasm,  she 
spoke  of  the  lofty  and  generous  character  of  Glanville, 
dream  of  the  foul  and  dastardly  crime  of  which  he  was 
more  than  suspected  ; nor,  while  it  was,  perhaps,  her 
fondest  wish  to  ally  herself  to  his  destiny,  could  her  wild- 
est fancies  anticipate  the  felon’s  fate,  which,  if  death 
came  not  in  a hastier  and  kinder  shape,  must  sooner  or 
later  await  him. 

Of  Thornton  I had  neither  seen  nor  heard  aught  since 
my  departure  from  Lord  Chester’s ; that  reprieve  was, 
however,  shortly  to  expire.  I had  scarcely  got  into 
Oxford-street,  in  my  way  homeward,  when  I perceived  him 
crossing  the  street  with  another  man.  I turned  round 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  115 

to  scrutinize  the  features  of  his  companion,  and,  in  spite 
of  a great  change  of  dress,  a huge  pair  of  false  whiskers, 
and  an  artificial  appearance  of  increased  age,  my  habit 
of  observing  countenances  enabled  me  to  recognize,  on 
the  instant,  my  intellectual  and  virtuous  friend,  Mr.  Job 
Jonson.  They  disappeared  in  a shop,  nor  did  I think 
it  worth  while  further  to  observe  them,  though  I still  bore 
a reminiscitory  spite  against  Mr.  Job  Jonson,  which  I 
was  fully  resolved  to  wreak  at  the  first  favorable  op- 
portunity. 

I passed  by  Lady  Roseville’s  door.  Though  the  hour 
was  late,  and  I had,  therefore,  but  a slight  chance  of 
finding  her  at  home,  yet  I thought  the  chance  worth  the 
trouble  of  inquiry.  To  my  agreeable  surprise,  I was 
admitted;  no  one  was  in  the  drawing-room.  The  servant 
said,  Lady  Roseville  was  at  that  moment  engaged,  but 
would  very  shortly  see  me,  and  begged  I would  wait. 

Agitated  as  I was  by  various  reflections,  I walked  (in 
the  restlessness  of  my  mood)  to  and  fro  the  spacious 
rooms  which  formed  Lady  Roseville’s  apartments  of 
reception.  At  the  far  end  was  a small  boudoir^  where 
none  but  the  goddess’s  favored  few  were  admitted.  As  I 
approached  towards  it,  I heard  voices,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  recognized  the  deep  tones  of  Glanville.  I turned 
hastily  away,  lest  I should  overhear  the  discourse ; but  I 
had  scarcely  got  three  steps,  when  the  convulsed  sound 
of  a woman’s  sob  came  upon  my  ear.  Shortly  afterwards, 
steps  descended  the  stairs,  and  the  street-door  opened. 


pelram;  or, 


176 

The  minutes  rolled  on,  and  I became  impatient  The 
servant  re-entered  — Lady  Roseville  was  so  suddenly  and 
seriously  indisposed,  that  she  vras  unable  to  see  me.  I 
left  the  house,  and,  full  ot  bewildered  conjectures,  returned 
to  my  apartments. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  the  most  important  in  my  life, 
1 was  standing  wistfully  by  my  fire-place,  listening  with 
the  most  mournful  attention  to  a broken-winded  hurdy- 
gurdy,  stationed  opposite  to  my  window,  when  Bedos 
announced  Sir  Reginald  Glanville.  It  so  happened,  that 
I had  that  morning  taken  the  miniature  I had  found  in 
the  fatal  field,  from  the  secret  place  in  which  I usually 
kept  it,  in  order  closely  to  examine  it,  lest  any  proof  of 
its  ownership,  more  convincing  than  the  initials  and  Thorn- 
ton’s interpretation,  might  be  discovered  by  a minuter 
investigation. 

The  picture  was  lying  on  the  table  when  Glanville 
entered  : my  first  impulse  was  to  seize  and  secrete  it ; my 
second  to  suffer  it  to  remain,  and  to  watch  the  effect  the 
sight  of  it  might  produce.  In  following  the  latter,  I 
thought  it,  however,  as  well  to  choose  my  own  time  for 
discovering  the  miniature  ; and,  as  I moved  to  the  table, 
I threw  my  handkerchief  carelessly  over  it.  Glanville 
came  up  to  me  at  once,  and  his  countenance,  usually  close 
and  reserved  in  its  expression,  assumed  a franker  and 
bolder  aspect. 

“You  have  lately  changed  towards  me,”  he  said — i 
“ mindful  of  our  former  friendship,  I have  come  to  demand 
ihe  reason.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


177 


“ Can  Sir  Eeginald  Glanville’s  memory/^  answered  I 
supply  him  with  no  probable  cause  ? ” 

It  can/’  replied  Glanville,  ‘‘  but  I would  not  trust  only 
to  that.  Sit  down,  Pelham,  and  listen  to  me.  I can 
read  your  thoughts,  and  I might  affect  to  despise  their 
import  — perhaps  two  years  since  I should  — at  present 
I can  pity  and  excuse  them.  I have  come  to  you  now, 
in  the  love  and  confidence  of  our  early  days,  to  claim  as 
then  your  good  opinion  and  esteem.  If  you  require  any 
explanation  at  my  hands,  it  shall  be  given.  My  days  are 
approaching  their  end.  I have  made  up  my  accounts 
with  others  — I would  do  so  with  you.  I confess  that  I 
would  fain  leave  behind  me  in  your  breast,  the  same  affec- 
tionate remembrance  I might  heretofore  have  claimed, 
and  which,  whatever  be  your  suspicions,  I have  done 
nothing  to  forfeit.  I have,  moreover,  a dearer  interest 
than  my  own  to  consult  in  this  wish  — you  color,  Pelham 
— you  know  to  whom  I allude;  for  my  sister’s  sake,  if 
not  for  my  own,  you  will  hear  me.” 

Glanville  paused  for  a moment.  I raised  the  handker- 
chief from  the  miniature  — I pushed  the  latter  towards 
him  — ‘‘Do  you  remember  this  ? ” said  I,  in  a low  tone. 

With  a wild  cry,  which  thrilled  through  my  heart, 
Glanville  sprang  forward  and  seized  it.  He  gazed  eagerly 
and  intensely  upon  it,  and  his  cheek  flushed  — his  eyes 
sparkled  — his  breast  heaved.  The  next  moment  he  fell 
back  in  his  chair,  in  one  of  the  half  swoons,  to  which, 
upon  a sudden  and  violent  emotion,  the  debilitating  effects 
of  his  disease  subjected  him. 


178 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Before  I could  come  to  his  assistance,  he  had  recovered. 
He  looked  wildly  and  fiercely  upon  me.  “ Speak, he 
cried,  speak  — where  got  you  this  — where  ?— answer, 
for  mercy’s  sake  ? ” 

^‘Recollect  yourself,”  said  I sternly.  ‘'I  found  that 
token  of  your  presence  upon  the  spot  where  Tyrrell  was 
murdered.” 

True,  true,”  said  Glanville,  slowly,  and  in  an  absent 
and  abstracted  tone.  He  ceased  abruptly,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands ; from  this  attitude  he  started  with 
some  sudden  impulse. 

And  tell  me,”  he  said,  in  a low,  inward,  exulting  tone 
was  it  — was  it  red  with  the  blood  of  the  murderer 
man  ? ” 

Wretch  ! ” I exclaimed,  do  you  glory  in  your  guilt  ? 

Hold  ! ” said  Gllanvile,  rising,  with  an  altered  and 
haughty  air ; it  is  not  to  your  accusations  that  I am 
now  to  listen  ; if  you  are  yet  desirous  of  weighing  their 
justice  before  you  decide  upon  them,  you  will  have  the 
opportunity;  I shall  be  at  home  at  ten  this  night ; come 
to  me,  and  you  shall  know  all.  At  present,  the  sight 
of  this  picture  has  unnerved  me.  Shall  I see  you  f ” 

I made  no  other  rejoinder  than  the  brief  expression  of 
my  assent,  and  Glanville  instantly  left  the  room. 

During  the  whole  of  that  day,  my  mind  was  wrought 
up  into  a state  of  feverish  and  preternatural  excitement. 
I could  not  remain  on  the  same  spot  for  an  instant : my 
pulse  beat  with  the  irregularity  of  delirium.  For  the  last 
hour  I placed  my  watch  before  me,  and  kept  my  eyes 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  1^9 

constantly  fixed  upon  it.  It  was  not  only  Glanville^s 
cohfession  that  I was  to  hear ; my  own  fate,  my  future 
connection  with  Ellen,  rested  upon  the  story  of  that  night. 
For  myself,  when  I called  to  mind  Glanville’s  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  picture,  and  his  slow  and  involuntary  re- 
membrance of  the  spot  where  it  was  found,  I scarcely 
allowed  my  temper,  sanguine  as  it  was,  to  hope. 

Some  minutes  before  the  hour  of  ten,  I repaired  to 
Glanviile’s  house.  He  was  alone  — the  picture  was  before 
him. 

I drew  my  chair  towards  him  in  silence,  and,  accidentally 
lifting  up  my  eyes,  encountered  the  opposite  mirror.  I 
started  at  my  own  face;  the  intensity  and  fearfulness  of 
my  interest  had  rendered  it  even  more  hueless  than  that 
of  my  companion. 

There  was  a pause  for  some  moments,  at  the  end  of 
which  Glanville  thus  began. 


ISO 


PELHAM;  OR 


CHAPTER  LXXIV 

I do  but  hide 

Under  these  words,  like  embers,  every  spark 
Of  that  which  has  consumed  me.  Quick  and  dark 
The  grave  is  yawning; — as  its  roof  shall  cover 
My  limbs  with  dust  and  worms,  under  and  over, 

So  let  oblivion  hide  the  grief. — Julian  and  Maddalr 
****** 

With  thee  the  very  future  fled, 

I stand  amid  the  past  alone, 

A tomb  which  still  shall  guard  the  dead, 
Though  every  earthlier  trace  be  flown ; 

A tomb  o*er  which  the  weeds  that  love 
Decay  — their  wild  luxuriance  wreathe 
The  cold  and  callous  stone  above  — 

Aiid  only  thou  and  death  beneath. 

From  Unpublished  Pcems  by  - 


THE  HISTORY  OF  SIR  REGINALD  GLANVILLE. 

**  Tou  remember  my  character  at  school  — the  difficulty 
with  which  you  drew  me  from  the  visionary  and  abstracted 
loneliness  which,  even  at  that  time,  was  more  consonant 
to  my  taste,  than  all  the  sports  and  society  resorted  to  by 
other  boys  — and  the  deep,  and,  to  you,  inexplicable 
delight  with  which  I returned  to  my  reveries  and  solitude 
again.  That  character  has  continued  through  life  the 
same  ; circumstances  have  strengthened,  not  altered  it. 
So  has  it  been  with  you ; the  temper,  the  habits,  the  tastes, 
so  strongly  contrasted  with  mine  in  boyhood,  have  lost 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  181 

nothing  of  that  contrast.  Your  ardor  for  the  various 
ambition  of  life  is  still  the  antipodes  to  my  influence  : your 
daring,  restless,  thoughtful  resolution  in  the  pursuit,  still 
shames  my  indolence  and  abstraction.  You  are  still  the 
votary  of  the  world,  but  will  become  its  conqueror  — 1 
its  fugitive  — and  shall  die  its  victim. 

“After  we  parted  at  school,  I went  for  a short  time  to 

a tutor’s  in shire.  Of  this  place  I soon  grew  weary; 

and,  my  father’s  death  rendering  me  in  a great  measure 
my  own  master,  I lost  no  time  in  leaving  it.  I was  seized 
with  that  mania  for  travel  common  enough  to  all  persons 
of  my  youth  and  disposition.  My  mother  allowed  me  an 
almost  unlimited  command  over  the  fortune  eventually  to 
be  my  own  ; and,  yielding  to  my  wishes,  rather  than  her 
fears,  she  suffered  me,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  to  set  out 
for  the  Continent  alone.  Perhaps  the  quiet  and  reserve 
of  my  character  made  her  think  me  less  exposed  to  the 
dangers  of  youth,  than  if  I had  been  of  a more  active  and 
versatile  temper.  This  is  no  uncommon  mistake  ; a serious 
and  contemplative  disposition  is,  however,  often  the  worst 
formed  to  acquire  readily  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
always  the  most  calculated  to  suffer  deeply  from  the  ex- 
perience. 

“ I took  up  my  residence  for  some  time  at  Spa.  It  is, 
you  know,  perhaps,  a place  dull  enough  to  make  gambling 
the  only  amusement ; everyone  played  — and  I did  not 
escape  the  contagion  ; nor  did  I wish  it ; for,  like  the 
minister  Godolphin,  my  habitual  silence  made  me  love 
gaming  for  its  own  sake,  because  it  was  a substitute  for 
II.  — 16 


182 


PELHAM;  OR, 


conversation.  This  pursuit  brought  me  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Tyrrell,  who  was  then  staying  at  Spa  ; he  had  not,  at 
that  time,  quite  dissipated  his  fortune,  but  was  daily  ad- 
vancing towards  so  desirable  a consummation.  A gam- 
bler’s acquaintance  is  readily  made,  and  easily  kept,  — • 
provided  you  gamble  too. 

We  became  as  intimate  as  the  reserve  of  my  habits 
ever  suffered  me  to  become  with  any  one  but  you.  He 
was  many  years  older  than  I — bad  seen  a great  deal  of 
the  world  — had  mixed  much  in  its  best  societies,  and  at 
that  time,  whatever  was  the  vulgarity  of  his  mind,  had 
little  of  the  coarseness  of  manner  which  very  soon  after- 
wards distinguished  him  ; evil  communication  works  rap- 
idly in  its  results.  Our  acquaintance  was,  therefore, 
natural  enough,  especially  when  it  is  considered  that  my 
purse  was  entirely  at  his  disposal  — for  borrowing  is 
^ twice  blessed,’  in  him  that  takes  and  him  that  gives  — 
the  receiver  becomes  complaisant  and  conceding,  and  the 
lender  thinks  favorably  of  one  he  has  obliged. 

“We  parted  at  Spa,  under  a mutual  promise  to  write. 
I forget  if  this  promise  was  kept  — probably  not : we  were 
not,  however,  the  worse  friends  for  being  bad  correspond- 
ents. I continued  my  travels  for  about  another  year  ; I 
then  returned  to  England,  the  'same  melancholy  and 
dreaming  enthusiast  as  before.  It  is  true  that  we  are  the 
creatures  of  circumstances  ; but  circumstances  are  also,  in 
a great  measure,  the  creatures  of  U8.  I mean,  they  receive 
their  influences  from  the  previous  bent  of  our  own  minds  ; 
what  raises  one  would  depress  another,  and  what  vitiates 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  183 

rny  neighbor  might  correct  me.  Thus  the  experience  of 
the  world  makes  some  persons  more  worldly  — others  more 
abstracted  ; and  the  indulgence  of  the  senses  becomes  a 
violence  to  one  mind,  and  a second  nature  to  another. 
As  for  me,  I had  tasted  all  the  pleasures  youth  and  opu- 
lence can  purchase,  and  was  more  averse  to  them  than 
ever.  I had  mixed  with  many  varieties  of  men  — 1 was 
still  more  riveted  to  the  monotony  of  self, 

I cannot  hope,  while  I mention  these  peculiarities, 
that  I am  a very  uncommon  character : I believe  the 
present  age  has  produced  many  such.  Some  time  hence, 
it  will  be  a curious  inquiry  to  ascertain  the  causes  of  that 
acute  and  sensitive  morbidity  of  mind,  which  has  been, 
and  still  is,  so  epidemic  a disease.  You  know  me  well 
enough  to  believe,  that  I am  not  fond  of  the  cant  of 
assuming  an  artificial  character,  or  of  creating  a fictitious 
interest ; and  I am  far  from  wishing  to  impose  upon  you 
a malady  of  constitution  for  a dignity  of  mind.  You  must 
pardon  my  prolixity.  I own  that  it  is  very  painful  to  me  to 
come  to  the  main  part  of  my  confessions,  and  I am  endeav- 
oring to  prepare  myself  by  lingering  over  the  prelude.^’ 
Glanville  paused  here  for  a few  moments.  In  spite  of 
the  sententious  coolness  with  which  he  pretended  to  speak, 
I saw  that  he  was  powerfully  and  painfully  affected. 

''Well,”  he  continued,  "to  resume  the  thread  of  my 
narrative  ; after  I had  stayed  some  weeks  with  my  mother 
and  sister,  I took  advantage  of  their  departure  for  th^ 
continent,  and  resolved  to  make  a tour  through  England. 
Rich  people,  and  I have  always  been  very  rich,  grow 

2k 


184 


PELHAM;  OR, 


exceedingly  tired  of  the  embarrassment  of  their  riches.;  I 
seized  with  delight  the  idea  of  travelling  without  car- 
riages and  servants  ; I took  merely  a favorite  horse,  and 
the  black  dog,  poor  Terror,  which  you  see  now  at  my  feet. 

The  day  I commenced  this  plan  was  to  me  the  epoch 
of  a new  and  terrible  existence.  However,  you  must 
pardon  me  if  I am  not  here  sufficiently  diffuse.  Suffice  it, 
that  I became  acquainted  with  a being  whom,  for  the  first 
and  only  time  in  my  life,  I loved  ! This  miniature  attempts 
to  express  her  likeness  ; the  initials  at  the  back,  interwoven 
with  my  own,  are  hers.” 

Yes,”  said  I,  incautiously,  they  are  the  initials  of 
Gertrude  Douglas.” 

What ! ” cried  Glanville,  in  a loud  tone,  which  he  in- 
stantly checked,  and  continued  in  an  indrawn,  muttered 
whisper  : “How  long  is  it  since  I heard  that  name  ! and 
now  — now — ” he  broke  off  abruptly,  and  then  said,  with 
a calmer  voice,  “ I know  not  how  you  have  learnt  her 
name ; perhaps  you  will  explain  ! ” 

“ From  Thornton,”  said  I. 

“And  has  he  told  you  more  ? ” cried  Glanville,  as  if 

gasping  for  breath  — “the  history  — the  dreadful ” 

“ Not  a word,”  said  I,  hastily ; “ he  was  with  me  when 
I found  the  picture,  tlnd  he  explained  the  initials.  ” 

“It  is  well!”  answered  Glanville,  recovering  himself. 
“ you  wdll  see  presently  if  I have  reason  to  love  that  those 
foul  and  sordid  lips  should  profane  the  story  I am  about 
to  relate.  Gertrude  was  an  only  daughter ; though  of 
gentle  blood,  she  was  no  match  for  me,  either  in  rank  or 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


18t 


fortune.  Did  I say  just  now  that  the  world  had  not  altered 
me  ? See  my  folly  ; one  year  before  I saw  her,  and  I 
should  not  have  thought  her^  but  myself,  honored  by^ 
a marriage;  — twelve  little  months  had  sufficed  to  — 
God  forgive  me  1 I took  advantage  of  her  love  — her 
youth  — her  innocence  — she  fled  with  me  — but  nut  to  the 
altar 

Again  Glanville  paused,  and  again,  by  a violent  effort, 
conquered  his  emotion,  and  proceeded:  — 

“ Never  let  vice  be  done  by  halves  — never  let  a man 
invest  all  his  purer  affections  in  the  woman  he  ruins  — 
never  let  him  cherish  the  kindness,  if  he  gratifies  the 
selfishness,  of  his  heart.  A profligate  who  really  loves 
his  victim,  is  one  of  the  most  wretched  of  beings.  In  spite 
of  my  successful  and  triumphant  passion  — in  spite  of  the 
first  intoxication  of  possession,  and  the  better  and  deeper 
delight  of  a reciprocity  of  thought  — feeling,  sympathy, 
for  the  first  time,  found  ; — in  the  midst  of  all  the  luxuries 
my  wealth  could  produce,  and  of  the  voluptuous  and 
spring-like  hues  with  which  youth,  health,  and  first  love, 
clothe  the  earth  which  the  loved  one  treads,  and  the  air 
which  she  inhales  ; in  spite  of  these,  in  spite  of  all.  I was 
anything  but  happy.  If  Gertrude’s  cheek  seemed  a shade 
more  pale,  or  her  eyes  less  bright,  I remembered  the 
sacrifice  she  had  made  me,  and  believed  that  she  felt  it  too. 

It  was  in  vain,  that,  with  the  tender  and  generous  devotion 
— never  found  but  in  woman  — she  assured  me  that  my 
love  was  a recompense  for  all ; the  more  touching  was  her 
tenderness,  the  more  poignant  was  my  remorse.  I never 
16* 


18G 


PELHAM;  OR, 


loved  but  ner ; I have  never,  therefore,  entered  into  the 
common-place  of  passion,  and  I canhot,  even  to  this  day, 
look  upon  her  sex  as  ours  do  in  general.  I thought,  I 
think  so  still,  that  ingratitude  to  a woman  is  often  a more 
odious  offence  — I am  sure  it  contains  a more  painful 
penalty  — than  ingratitude  to  a man.  But  enough  of  this  ; 
if  you  know  me,  you  can  penetrate  the  nature  of  my  feel- 
ings— if  not,  it  is  in  vain  to  expect  your  sympathy. 

never  loved  living  long  in  one  place.  We  travelled 
over  the  greater  part  of  England  and  France.  What  must 
be  the  enchantment  of  love  when  accompanied  with  inno- 
cence and  joy,  since,  even  in  sin,  in  remorse,  in  grief,  it 
brings  us  a rapture  to  which  all  other  things  are  tame  I 
Oh  ! those  were  moments  steeped  in  the  very  elixir  of 
life  ; overflowing  with  the  hoarded  fondness  and  sympathies 
of  hearts  too  full  for  words,  and  yet  too  agitated  for 
silence,  when  we  journeyed  alone,  and  at  night,  and,  as 
the  shadows  and  stillness  of  the  waning  hours  gathered 
round  us,  drew  closer  to  each  other,  and  concentrated  this 
breathing  world  in  the  deep  and  embracing  sentiment  of 
our  mutual  love  ! It  was  then  that  I laid  my  burning 
temples  on  her  bosom,  and  felt,  while  my  hand  clasped 
hers,  that  my  visions  were  realized,  and  my  wandering 
spirit  had  sunk  unto  its  rest. 

I remember  well  that,  one  night,  we  were  travelling 
through  one  of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of  England  ; it 
was  in  the  very  height  and  flush  of  summer,  and  the  moon 
(what  scene  of  love  — whether  in  reality  or  romance  — 
has  anything  of  tenderness,  or  passion,  or  divinity,  where 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  181 

her  light  is  not !)  filled  the  intense  skies  of  June  wivn  her 
presence,  and  cast  a sadder  and  paler  beauty  over  Ger- 
trude’s cheek.  She  was  always  of  a melancholy  and  de- 
spondent temper;  perhaps,  for  that  reason,  she  was  more 
congenial  to  my  own  ; and  when  I gazed  upon  her  that 
night,  I was  not  surprised  to  see  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

* You  will  laugh  at  me,’  she  said,  as  I kissed  them  off  and 
inquired  into  the  cause  ; ' but  I feel  a presentiment  that  1 
cannot  shake  off ; it  tells  me  that  you  will  travel  this  road 
again  before  many  months  are  past,  and  that  I shall  not 
be  with  you,  perhaps  not  upon  the  earth.’  She  was  right 
in  all  her  forebodings,  but  the  suggestion  of  her  death  ; 
— that  came  later. 

We  took  up  our  residence  for  some  time  at  a beautiful 
situation,  a short  distance  from  a small  watering-place, 
Here,  to  my  great  surprise,  I met  with  Tyrrell.  He  had 
come  there  partly  to  see  a relation  from  whom  he  had 
expectations,  and  partly  to  recruit  his  health,  which  was 
much  broken  by  his  irregularities  and  excesses.  I could 
not  refuse  to  renew  my  old  acquaintance  with  him  ; and 
indeed,  I thought  him  too  much  of  a man  of  the  world, 
and  of  society,  to  feel  with  him  that  particular  delicacy, 
in  regard  to  Gertrude,  which  made  me  in  general  shun  all 
intercourse  with  my  former  friends.  He  was  in  great 
pecuniary  embarrassment  — much  more  deeply  so  than  I 
then  imagined  ; for  I believed  the  embarrassment  to  be 
only  temporary.  However,  my  purse  was  then,  as  before, 
at  his  disposal,  and  he  did  not  scruple  to  avail  himself 
very  largely  of  my  offers.  He  came  frequently  to  our 


188 


PELHAM;  OR, 


house  ; and  poor  Gertrude,  who  thought  I had,  ibr  her 
sake,  made  a real  sacrifice  in  renouncing  mj  acquaintance, 
endeavored  to  conquer  her  usual  diffidence,  and  that  more 
painful  feeling  than  diffidence,  natural  to  her  station,  and 
even  to  affect  a pleasure  in  the  society  of  my  friend,  which 
she  was  very  far  from  feeling. 

“ I was  detained  at for  several  weeks  by  Gertrude’s 

confinement.  The  child  — happy  being  ! — died  a week 
after  its  birth.  Gertrude  was  still  in  bed,  and  unable  to 
leave  it,  when  I received  a letter  from  Ellen,  to  say  that 
my  mother  was  then  staying  at  Toulouse,  and  dangerously 
ill ; if  I wished  once  more  to  see  her,  Ellen  besought  me 
to  lose  no  time  in  setting  off  for  the  continent.  You  may 
imagine  my  situation,  or  rather  you  cannot,  for  you  cannot 
conceive  the  smallest  particle  of  that  intense  love  I bore 
to  Gertrude.  To  you  — to  any  other  man,  it  might  seem 
no  extraordinary  hardship  to  leave  her  even  for  an  un- 
certain period  — to  me  it  was  like  tearing  away  the  very 
life  from  my  heart. 

I procured  her  a sort  of  half  companion,  and  half 
nurse  ; I provided  for  her  everything  that  the  most  anxious 
and  fearful  love  could  suggest ; and,  with  a mind  full  of 
forebodings  too  darkly  to  be  realized  hereafter,  I hastened 
to  the  nearest  sea-port,  and  set  sail  for  France. 

*‘When  I arrived  at  Toulouse,  my  mother  was  much 
better,  but  still  in  a very  uncertain  and  dangerous  state 
of  health.  I stayed  with  her  for  more  than  a month, 
during  which  time  every  post  brought  me  a line  from 
Gertrude,  and  bore  back  a message  from  'my  heart  to 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


189 


hers’  in  return.  This  was  no  mean  consolation,  more 
especially  when  each  letter  spoke  of  increasing  health  and 
strength.  At  the  month’s  end,  I was  preparing  to  return 
— my  mother  was  slowly  recovering,  and  I no  longer  had 
any  fears  on  her  account ; but,  there  are  links  in  our 
destiny  fearfully  interwoven  with  each  other,  and  ending 
only  in  the  anguish  of  our  ultimate  doom.  The  day  before 
that  fixed  for  my  departure,  I had  been  into  a house 
where  an  epidemic  disease  raged  ; that  night  I complained 
of  oppressive  and  deadly  illness  — before  morning  I was 
in  a high  fever. 

“'During  the  time  I was  sensible  of  my  state,  I wrote 
constantly  to  Gertrude,  and  carefully  concealed  my  illness  ; 
but  for  several  days  I was  delirious.  When  I recovered, 
I called  eagerly  for  my  letters  — there  were  none  : — none! 
I could  not  believe  I was  yet  awake  ; but  days  still  passed 
on,  and  not  a line  from  England  — from  Gertrude.  The 
instant  I was  able,  I insisted  upon  putting  horses  to  my 
carriage  ; I could  bear  no  longer  the  torture  of  my  sus- 
pense. By  the  most  rapid  journeys  my  debility  would 
allow  me  to  bear,  I arrived  in  England.  I travelled  down 

to by  the  same  road  that  I had  gone  over  with  her  I 

the  words  of  her  foreboding,  at  that  time,  sank  like  ice  into 
my  heart,  ‘You  will  travel  this  road  again  before  many 
months  are  past,  and  I shall  not  be  with  you  ; perhaps,  I 
shall  not  be  upon  the  earth  ! ’ At  that  thought  I could 
have  called  unto  the  grave  to  open  for  me.  Her  un- 
accountable and  lengthened  silence,  in  spite  of  all  the 
urgency  and  entreaties  of  my  letters  for  a reply,  filled  me 


190 


PELHAM;  OR, 


with  presentiments  the  most  fearful.  Oh,  God  — oh,  God^ 
they  were  nothing  to  the  truth  ! 

“At  last  I arrived  at : my  carriage  stopped  at  tho 

very  house  — my  whole  frame  was  perfectly  frozen  with 
dread  — I trembled  from  limb  to  limb  — the  ice  of  a 
thousand  winters  seemed  curdling  through  my  blood.  The 
bell  rang  — once,  twice  — no  answer  — I would  have  leaped 
out  of  the  carriage  — I would  have  forced  an  entrance; 
but  I was  unable  to  move.  A man  fettered  and  spell- 
bound by  an  incubus,  is  less  helpless  than  I was.  At 
last,  an  old  female  I had  never  seen  before,  appeared. 

“ ‘ Where  is  she  ? How  ! — ’ I could  utter  no  more  — 
my  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  inquisitive  and  frightened 
countenance  opposite  to  my  own.  Those  eyes,  I thought, 
might  have  said  all  that  my  lips  could  not ; I was  deceived 
— the  old  woman  understood  me  no  more  than  I did  her : 
another  person  appeared  — I recognized  the  face  — it 
was  that  of  a girl,  who  had  been  one  of  our  attendants. 
Will  you  believe,  that  at  that  sight,  the  sight  of  one  I 
had  seen  before,  and  could  associate  with  the  remembrance 
of  the  breathing,  the  living,  the  present  Gertrude,  a thrill 
of  joy  flashed  across  me  — my  fears  seemed  to  vanish  — 
my  spell  to  cease  ? 

“ I sprang  from  the  carriage  ; I caught  the  girl  by  the 
robe.  ‘Your  mistress,’  said  I,  ‘your  mistress  — she  is  well 

she  is  alive  — speak,  speak!  The  girl  shrieked  out; 

my  eagerness,  and,  perhaps,  my  emaciated  and  altered 
appearance,  terrified  her ; but  she  had  the  strong  nerves 
of  youth,  and  was  soon  re-assured.  She  requested  me  to 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


191 


step  in,  and  she  would  tell  me  all.  My  wife  (Gertrudt 
always  went  by  that  name)  was  alive,  and,  she  believed,^ 
well,  but  she  had  left  that  place  some  weeks  since.  Trem- 
bling, and  still  fearful,  but  in  heaven,  comparatively  to  my 
former  agony,  I followed  the  girl  and  the  old  woman 
into  the  house. 

“ The  former  got  me  some  water.  ^Now,^  said  I,  when 
1 had  drunk  a long  and  hearty  draught,  ‘ I am  ready  to 
hear  all  — my  wife  has  left  this  house,  you  say  — for  what 
place  ? ^ The  girl  hesitated  and  looked  down  ; the  old 
woman,  who  was  somewhat  deaf,  and  did  not  rightly  un- 
derstand my  questions,  or  the  nature  of  the  personal 
interest  I had  in  the  reply,  answered, — ^ What  does  the 
gentleman  want  ? the  poor  young  lady  who  was  last  here  ? 
Lord  help  her  ! ’ 

‘ What  of  her  ? ’ I called  out  in  a new  alarm.  ' What 
of  her  ? Where  has  she  gone  ? Who  took  her  away  ? ’ 
Who  took  her  1 ’ mumbled  the  old  woman,  fretful  at 
my  impatient  tone  ; ‘ who  took  her  ? why^  the  mad  doctor 
to  he  sure  / ’ 

heard  no  more  ; my  frame  could  support  no  longer 
the  agonies  my  mind  had  undergone  ; I fell  lifeless  on  the 
floor. 

When  I recovered,  it  was  at  the  dead  of  the  night 
I was  in  bed,  the  old  woman  and  the  girl  were  at  my  side. 
I rose  slowly  and  calmly.  You  know,  all  men  who  have 
ever  suffered  much,  know  the  strange  anomalies  of  despair 
— the  quiet  of  our  veriest  anguish.  Deceived  by  my 
tearing,  I learned  by  degrees  from  my  attendants,  that 


192 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Gertrude  had  some  weeks  since  betrayed  certain  symptoms 
of  insanity  ; that  these,  in  a very  few  hours,  arose  to  an 
alarming  pitch.  From  some  reason  the  woman  could  not 
explain,  she  had,  a short  time  before,  discarded  the  com- 
panion I had  left  with  her  ; she  was,  therefore,  alone  among 
servants.  They  sent  for  the  ignorant  practitioners  of  the 
place ; they  tried  their  nostrums  without  success ; her 
madness  increased  ; her  attendants,  with  that  superstitious 
horror  of  insanity  common  to  the  lower  classes,  became 
more  and  more  violently  alarmed  ; the  landlady  insisted 
on  her  removal;  and  — and — I told  you,  Pelham  — I 
told  you  — they  sent  her  away  — sent  her  to  a mad-house  ! 
All  this  I listened  to  1 — all ! — ay,  and  patiently.  I noted 
down  the  address  of  her  present  abode  ; it  was  about  the 

distance  of  twenty  miles  from . I ordered  fresh  horses 

and  set  off  immediately. 

''I  arrived  there  at  day-break.  It  w^as  a large,  old 
house,  which,  like  a French  hotel,  seemed  to  have  no 
visible  door : dark  and  gloomy,  the  pile  appeared  worthy 
of  the  purpose  to  which  it  was  devoted.  It  was  a long 
time  before  we  aroused  any  one  to  answer  our  call ; at 
length  I was  ushered  into  a small  parlor  — how  minutely 
I remember  every  article  in  the  room!  — what  varieties 
there  are  in  the  extreme  passions  ! sometimes  the  same 
feeling  will  deaden  all  the  senses  — sometimes  render  them 
a hundredfold  more  acute  ! 

“At  last,  a man  of  a smiling  and  rosy  aspect  appeared. 
He  pointed  to  a chair  — rubbed  his  hands  — and  begged 
me  to  unfold  my  business;  few  words  sufficed  to  do  that. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMA.N.  193 

I requested  to  see  his  patient ; I demanded  bv  what 
authority  she  had  been  put  under  his  care.  The  man’s 
face  altered.  He  was  but  little  pleased  with  the  nature 
of  my  visit.  ^ The  lady,’  he  said,  coolly,  ‘had  been  en- 
trusted to  his  care,  with  an  adequate  remuneration,  by 
Mr.  Tyrrell ; without  that  gentleman’s  permission,  he  could 
not  think  even  of  suffering  me  to  see  her.’  I controlled 
• my  passion  ; I knew  something,  if  not  of  the  nature  of 
private  mad~houses,  at  least  of  that  of  mankind.  I claimed 
his  patient  as  my  wife  : I expressed  myself  obliged  by  his 
care,  and  begged  his  acceptance  of  a further  remuneration, 
which  I tendered,  and  which  was  eagerly  accepted.  The 
way  was  now  cleared  : there  is  no  hell  to  which  a golden 
breach  will  not  win  your  admittance. 

“ The  man  detained  me  no  longer  ; he  hastened  to  lead 
the  way.  We  passed  through  various  long  passages  ; 
sometimes  the  low  moan  of  pain  and  weakness  came  upon 
my  ear — sometimes  the  confused  murmur  of  the  idiot’s 
drivelling  soliloquy.  From  one  passage,  at  right  angles 
with  tlie  one  through  which  we  proceeded,  broke  a fierce 
and  thrilling  shriek  ; it  sank  at  once  into  silence  — per- 
haps beneath  the  lash! 

“We  were  now  in  a different  department  of  the  building 
— all  was  silence  — hushed  — deep  — breathless  ; thi^ 
seemed  to  me  more  awful  than  the  terrible  sounds  I had 
just  heard.  My  guide  went  slowly  on,  sometimes  breaking 
the  stillness  of  the  dim  gallery  by  the  jingle  of  his  keys  — 
sometimes  by  a muttered  panegyric  on  himself  and  his 
Humanity.  1 neither  heeded  nor  answered  him. 

iL  — n 


194 


PELHAM;  OR, 


We  read  in  the  annals  of  the  Inquisition,  of  every  limb, 
nerve,  sinew  of  the  victim,  being  so  nicely  and  accurately 
strained  to  their  utmost,  that  the  frame  would  not  bear 
the  additional  screwing  of.  a single  hair-breadth.  Such 
seemed  my  state.  We  came  to  a small  door,  at  the  right 
hand  ; it  was  the  last  but  one  in  the  passage.  We  paused 
before  it.  ‘ Stop,’  said  I,  'for  one  moment;  ’ and  I was 
so  faint  and  sick  at  heart,  that  I leaned  against  the  wal^ 
to  recover  myself,  before  I let  him  open  the  door ; when 
he  did,  it  was  a greater  relief  than  I can  express,  to  see 
that  all  was  utterly  dark.  ‘Wait,  sir,’  said  the  guide,  as 
he  entered  ; and  a sullen  noise  told  me  that  he  was  un- 
barring the  heavy  shutter. 

“ Slowly  the  grey  cold  light  of  the  morning  broke  in  i’ 
a dark  figure  was  stretched  upon  a wretched  bed,  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room.  She  raised  herself  at  the  sound. 
She  turned  her  face  towards  me  ; I did  not  fall,  nor  faint, 
nor  shriek  ; I stood  motionless,  as  if  fixed  into  stone  ; and 
yet  it  was  Gertrude  upon  whom  I gazed.  Oh,  Heaven  ! 
who  but  myself  could  have  recognized  her  ? Her  cheek 
was  as  the  cheek  of  the  dead  — the  hueless  skin  clung  to 
the  bone — the  eye  was  dull  and  glassy  for  one  moment; 
the  next  it  became  terribly  and  preternaturally  bright  — 
but  not  with  the  ray  of  intellect,  or  consciousness,  or  re- 
cognition. She  looked  long  and  hard  at  me  ; a voice, 
hollow  and  broken,  but  which  still  penetrated  my  heart, 
came  forth  through  the  wan  lips,  that  scarcely  moved  with 
the  exertion.  ‘ I am  very  cold,’  it  said — ‘ but  if  I com 
plain,  you  will  beat  me.’  She  fell  down  again  upon  the 
bed,  and  hid  her  face 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  ll)u 

<<  My  guide,  who  was  leaning  carelessly  by  the  window, 
turned  to  me  with  a sort  of  smirk  — ‘ This  is  her  way 
sir,’  he  said  ; ‘ her  madness  is  of  a very  singular  descrip 
tion  : we  have  not,  as  yet,  been  able  to  discover  how  far 
it  extends  ; sometimes  she  seems  conscious  of  the  past, 
sometimes  utterly  oblivious  of  everything  : for  days  she  is 
perfectly  silent,  or,  at  least,  says  nothing  more  than  you 
have  just  heard  ; but,  at  times,  she  raves  so  violently, 
that  — that  — but  I never  use  force  where  it  can  be 
helped.'^ 

“ I looked  at  the  man,  but  I could  not  answer,  unless 
I had  torn  him  to  pieces  on  the  spot.  I turned  away 
hastily  from  the  room  : but  I did  not  quit  the  house 
without  Gertrude  — I placed  her  in  the  carriage,  by  my 
side  — notwithstanding  all  the  protestations  and  fears  of 
the  keeper ; these  were  readily  silenced  by  the  sum  I gave 
him  ; it  was  large  enough  to  have  liberated  half  his  house- 
hold. In  fact,  I gathered  from  his  conversation,  that 
Tyrrell  had  spoken  of  Gertrude  as  an  unhappy  female 
whom  he  himself  had  seduced,  and  would  now  be  rid  of. 
I thank  you,  Pelham,  for  that  frown,  but  keep  your  in- 
dignation till  a fitter  season  for  it. 

1 took  m.y  victim,  for  I then  regarded  her  as  such,  to 
a secluded  and  lonely  spot : I procured  for  her  whatever 
advice  England  could  afford  ; all  was  in  vain.  Night  and 
day  I was  by  her  side,  but  she  never,  for  a moment,  seemed 
to  recollect  me  : yet  were  there  times  of  fierce  and  over- 
powering delirium,  when  my  name  was  uttered  in  the 
transport  of  the  most  passionate  enthusiasm  — •.  when  my 


196 


PELHAM;  OR, 


features  as  absent,  though  not  present,  were  recalled  and 
dwelt  upon  with  all  the  minuteness  of  the  most  faithful 
detail ; and  1 knelt  by  her  in  all  those  moments,  when  no 
other  human  being  was  near,  and  clasped  her  wan  hand, 
and  wiped  the  dew  from  her  forehead,  and  gazed  upon 
her  convulsed  and  changing  face,  and  called  upon  her  in 
a voice  which  could  once  have  allayed  her  wildest  emo- 
tions ; and  had  the  agony  of  seeing  her  eye  dwell  upon 
me  with  the  most  estranged  indifference,  or  the  most 
vehement  and  fearful  aversion.  But,  ever  and  anon,  she 
uttered  words  which  chilled  the  very  marrow  of  my  bones  ; 
words  which  I would  not,  dared  not  believe,  had  any 
meaning  or  method  in  their  madness  — but  which  entered 
into  my  own  brain,  and  preyed  there  like  the  devouring 
of  a fire.  There  was  a truth  in  those  ravings  — a reason 
in  that  incoherence  — and  my  cup  was  not  yet  full. 

“At  last,  one  physician,  who  appeared  to  me  to  have 
more  knowledge  than  the  rest,  of  the  mysterious  work- 
ings of  her  dreadful  disease,  advised  me  to  take  her  to 
the  scenes  of  her  first  childhood  : ‘ Those  scenes,’  said  he 
justly,  ^are  in  all  stages  of  life  the  most  fondly  remem- 
bered ; and  I have  noted,  that  in  many  cases  of  insanity, 
places  are  easier  recalled  than  persons  ; perhaps,  if  we  can 
once  awaken  one  link  in  the  chain,  it  will  communicate  to 
the  rest.’ 

“I  took  this  advice,  and  set  off  to  Norfolk.  Her  early 
home  was  not  many  miles  distant  from  the  church-yard 
where  you  once  met  me,  and  in  that  church-yard  her 
mother  was  buried.  She  had  died  before  Gertrude’s  flight  • 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


]T, 


the  father’s  death  had  followed  it  : perhaps  my  sufferinga 
were  a just  retribution  ! The  house  had  gone  into  other 
hands,  and  I had  no  difficulty  in  engaging  it.  Thank 
Heaven,  I was  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  any  of  Gertrude’s 
relations. 

It  was  night  when  we  moved  to  the  house.  I had 
placed  within  the  room  where  she  used  to  sleep,  all  the 
furniture  and  books,  with  which  it  appeared,  from  my  in- 
quiries, to  have  been  formerly  filled.  We  laid  her  in  the 
bed  that  had  held  that  faded  and  altered  form,  in  its 
freshest  and  purest  years.  I shrouded  myself  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and  counted  the  dull  minutes  till  the  day-light 
dawned.  I pass  over  the  detail  of  my  recital  — the  ex- 
periment partially  succeeded  — would  to  God  that  it  had 
not ! would  that  she  had  gone  down  to  her  grave  with  her 
dreadful  secret  urirevealed  ! would  — but — ” 

Here  Glanville’s  voice  failed  him,  and  there  was  a brief 
silence  before  he  re-commenced. 

“ Gertrude  now  had  many  lucid  intervals  ; but  these  my 
presence  were  always  sufficient  to  change  into  a delirious 
raving,  even  more  incoherent  than  her  insanity  had  ever 
yet  been.  She  would  fly  from  me  with  the  most  fearful 
cries,  bury  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  seem  like  one  op- 
pressed and  haunted  by  a supernatural  visitation,  as  long 
as  I remained  in  the  room  ; the  moment  I left  her,  she 
began,  though  slowly,  to  recover. 

“This  was  to  me  the  bitterest  affliction  of  all  — to  be 
forbidden  to  nurse,  to  cherish,  to  tend  her,  was  like  taking 
from  me  my  last  hope  I But  little  can  the  thoughtless  ox 
17  * 


PELHAM;  OR, 


1<J8 

ihe  worldly  dream  of  the  depths  of  a real  love  ; I used  tc 
wait  all  day  by  her  door,  and  it  was  luxury  enough  to  me 
to  catch  her  accents,  or  hear  her  move,  or  sigh,  or  even 
weep  ; and  all  night,  when  she  could  not  know  of  my 
presence,  I used  to  lie  down  by  her  bedside  ; and  when  I 
sank  into  a short  and  convulsed  sleep,  I saw  her  once 
more,  in  my  brief  and  fleeting  dreams,  in  all  the  devoted 
love,  and  glowing  beauty,  which  had  once  constituted  the 
whole  of  my  happiness,  and  my  world. 

“ One  day  I had  been  called  from  my  post  by  her  door. 
They  came  to  me  hastily  — she  was  in  strong  convulsions. 
I flew  up  stairs,  and  supported  her  in  my  arms  till  the  fits 
had  ceased  : we  then  placed  her  in  bed  ; she  never  rose 
from  it  again  : but  on  that  bed  of  death,  the  words,  as 
well  as  the  cause  of  her  former  insanity,  were  explained 

— the  mystery  was  unravelled. 

^‘It  was  a still  and  breathless  night.  The  moon,  which 
was  at  its  decrease,  came  through  the  half-closed  shutters, 
and,  beneath  its  solemn  and  eternal  light,  she  yielded  to 
my  entreaties,  and  revealed  all.  The  man  — my  friend 
■ — Tyrrell  — had  polluted  her  ear  with  his  addresses,  and 
when  fbrbidden  the  house,  had  bribed  the  woman  I had  left 
with  her,  to  convey  his  letters  ; — she  was  discharged  — ■ 
but  Tyrrell  was  no  ordinary  villain  ; he  entered  the  house 
one  evening,  when  no  one  but  Gertrude  was  there. — 
Come  near  me,  Pelham  — nearer  — bend  down  your  ear 

— he  used  force,  violence  1 That  night  Gertrude’s  senses 
deserted  her  — you  know  the  rest. 

The  moment  that  I gathered,  from  Gertrude’s  broken 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  199 

Bentences,  their  meaning,  that  moment  the  demon  entered 
into  my  soul.  All  human  feelings  seemed  to  fly  from  my 
heart ; it  shrank  into  one  burning,  and  thirsty,  and  fiery 
want  — and  that  want  was  for  revenge!  I would  have 
sprung  from  the  bedside,  but  Gertrude’s  hand  clung  to 
me,  and  detained  me  ; the  damp,  chill  grasp  grew  colder 
and  colder — it  ceased  — the  hand  fell  — I turned  — one 
slight,  but  awful  shudder,  went  over  that  face,  made  yet 
more  wan  by  the  light  of  the  waning  and  ghastly  moon 

— one  convulsion  shook  the  limbs  — one  murmur  passed 
the  falling  and  hueless  lips.  I cannot  tell  you  the  rest 

— you  know — you  can  guess  it. 

That  day  week  we  buried  her  in  the  lonely  church- 
yard — where  she  had,  in  her  lucid  moments,  wished  to 
lie  — by  the  side  of  her  mother.” 


CHAPTER  LXXY. 

I breathed, 

But  not  the  breath  of  human  life; 

A serpent  round  my  heart  was  wreathed, 

And  stung  my  veiy  thought  to  strife. — The  Giaour, 

“Thank  Heaven,  the  most  painful  part  of  my  story  is 
at  an  end.  You  wdll  now  be  able  to  account  for  our 

meeting  in  the  church-yard  at . I secured  myself 

a lodging  at  a cottage  not  far  from  the  spot  which  held 
Gertrude’s  remains.  Night  after  night  I wandered  to 

2l 


200 


PELHAM;  OR, 


that  lonely  place,  and  longed  for  a couch  beside  the 
sleeper,  whom  I mourned  in  the  selfishness  of  my  soul.  I 
prostrated  myself  oil  the  mound  : I humbled  myself  to 
tears.  In  the  overflowing  anguish  o«f  my  heart  I forgot 
all  that  had  aroused  its  stormier  passions  into  life, 
llevenge,  hatred,  — all  vanished.  I lifted  up  my  face  to 
the  tender  heavens  : I called  aloud  to  the  silent  and  placid 
air  ; and  when  I turned  again  to  that  unconscious  mound, 
I thought  of  nothing  but  the  sweetness  of  our  early  love, 
and  the  bitterness  of  her  early  death.  It  was  in  such 
moments  that  your  footstep  broke  upon  my  grief : the 
instant  others  had  seen  me  — other  eyes  penetrated  the 
sanctity  of  my  regret  — from  that  instant,  whatever  was 
more  soft  and  holy  in  the  passions  and  darkness  of  my 
mind  seemed  to  vanish  away  like  a scroll.  I again  re- 
turned to  the  intense  and  withering  remembrance  which 
was  henceforward  to  make  the  very  key  and  pivot  of  my 
existence.  I again  recalled  the  last  night  of  Gertrude’s 
life  ; I again  shuddered  at  the  low,  murmured  sounds, 
whose  dreadful  sense  broke  slowly  upon  my  soul.  I 
again  felt  the  cold  — cold,  damp  grasp  of  those  wan  and 
dying  fingers  ; and  I again  nerved  my  heart  to  an  iron 
strength,  and  vowed  deep,  deep-rooted,  endless,  implaca- 
ble revenge. 

The  morning  after  the  night  you  saw  me,  I left  my 
abode.  I went  to  London,  and  attempted  to  methodize 
my  plans  of  vengeance.  The  first  thing  to  discover,  was 
Tyrrell’s  present  residence.  By  accident,  I heard  he  was 
at  Paris,  and,  within  two  hours  of  receiving  the  ir.teiJi- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


20. 


gence,  I set  off  for  that  city.  On  arriving  there,  the 
habits  of  the  ganibler  soon  discovered  him  to  my  search 
I saw  him  one  night  at  a hell.  He  was  evidently  in  dis 
tressed  circumstances,  and  the  fortune  of  the  table  waa 
against  him.  Unperceived  by  him,  I feasted  my  eyes  on 
his  changing  countenance,  as  those  deadly  and  wearing 
transitions  of  feeling,  only  to  be  produced  by  the  gaming 
table,  passed  over  it.  While  I gazed  upon  him,  a thought 
of  more  exquisite  and  refined  revenge,  than  had  yet 
occurred  to  me,'  flashed  upon  my  mind.  Occupied  with 
the  ideas  it  gave  rise  to,  I went  into  the  adjoining  room, 
which  was  quite  empty.  There  I seated  myself,  and  en- 
deavored to  develop,  more  fully,  the  rude  and  imperfect 
outline  of  my  scheme. 

“ The  arch  tempter  favored  me  with  a trusty  coadjutor 
in  my  designs.  I was  lost  in  a reverie,  when  I heard 
myself  accosted  by  name.  I looked  up,  and  beheld  a man 
whom  I had  often  seen  with  Tyrrell,  both  at  Spa,  and 

(the  watering-place  where,  with  Gertrude,  I had  met 

Tyrrell).  He  was  a person  of  low  birth  and  character; 
but  esteemed,  from  his  love  of  coarse  humor,  and  vulgar 
enterprise,  a man  of  infinite  parts  — a sort  of  Yorick  — 
by  the  set  most  congenial  to  TyrrelFs  tastes.  By  this 
undue  reputation,  and  the  levelling  habit  of  gaming,  to 
which  he  was  addicted,  he  was  raised,  in  certain  societies, 
much  above  his  proper  rank  : need  I say  that  this  man 
was  Thornton  ? I was  but  slightly  acquainted  with  him  ; 
however,  he  accosted  me  cordially,  and  endeavored  to 
draw  me  into  conversation. 


20^Z 


PELK  A.M  ; OR, 


“ ‘ Have  you  seen  Tyrrell  ? ^ said  he  ; ‘ he  is  at  it 
again  ; what’s  bred  in  the  bone,  you  know,  &c.’  I turned 
pale  with  the  mention  of  Tyrrell’s  name,  and  replied  very 
laconically,  to  what  purpose,  I forget. — ‘Ah  ! ah  1 ’ re- 
joined Thornton,  eyeing  me  with  an  air  of  impertinent 
familiarity  — ‘ I see  you  have  not  forgiven  him  ; he  played 

you  but  a shabby  trick  at ; seduced  your  mistress,  or 

somethmg  of  that  sort ; he  told  me  all  about  it ; pray, 
how  is  the  poor  girl  now  ? ’ 

“ I made  no  reply  ; I sank  dowm  and  gasped  for  breath. 
All  I had  suffered  seemed  nothing  to  the  indignity  I then 
endured.  She  — she  — who  had  once  been  my  pride  — 

my  honor  — life  — to  be  thus  spoken  of — and . I 

could  not  pursue  the  idea.  I rose  hastily,  looked  at 
Thornton  with  a glance,  which  might  have  abashed  a man 
less  shameless  and  callous  than  himself,  and  left  the  room. 

“ That  night,  as  I tossed  restless  and  feverish  on  my  bed 
of  thorns,  I saw  how  useful  Thornton  might  be  to  me  in 
the  prosecution  of  the  scheme  I had  entered  into  ; and  the 
next  morning  I sought  him  out,  and  purchased  (no  very 
difficult  matter)  both  his  secresy  and  his  assistance.  My 
plan  of  vengeance,  to  one  who  had  seen  and  observed  less 
of  the  varieties  of  human  nature  than  you  have  done, 
might  seem  far-fetched  and  unnatural ; for  while  the  -su- 
perficial are  ready  to  allow  eccentricity  as  natural  in  the 
coolness  of  ordinary  life,  they  never  suppose  it  can  exist 
in  the  heat  of  the  passions  — as  if,  in  such  moments,  any 
thing  was  ever  considered  absurd  in  the  means  which  was 
favorable  to  the  end.  Where  the  secrets  of  one  passionate 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  203 

and  irregulated  heart  laid  bare,  there  would  be  more 
romance  in  them,  than  in  all  the  fables  which  we  turn  from 
with  incredulity  and  disdain,  as  exaggerated  and  over- 
drawn. 

'‘Among  the  thousand  schemes  for  retribution  which 
had  chased  each  other  across  my  mind,  the  death  of  my 
victim  was  only  the  ulterior  object.  Death,  indeed  — the 
pang  of  one  moment  — appeared  to  me  but  very  feeble 
justice  for  the  life  of  lingering  and  restless  anguish  to 
which  his  treachery  had  condemned  me  ; but  my  penance, 
my  doom,  I could  have  forgiven  : it  was  the  fate  of  a more 
innocent  and  injured  being  which  irritated  the  sting  and 
fed  the  venom  of  my  revenge.  That  revenge  no  ordinary 
punishment  could  appease.  If  fanaticism  can  only  be 
satisfied  by  the  rack  and  the  flames,  you  may  readily  con- 
ceive a like  unappeasable  fury,  in  a hatred  so  deadly,  so 
concentrated,  and  so  just  as  mine  — and  if  fanaticism 
persuades  itself  into  a virtue,  so  also  did  my  hatred. 

“ The  scheme  which  I resolved  upon  was,  to  attach 
Tyrrell  more  and  more  to  the  gaming-table,  to  be  present 
at  his  infatuation,  to  feast  my  eyes  upon  the  feverish 
intensity  of  his  suspense  — to  reduce  him,  step  by  step, 
to  the  lowest  abyss  of  poverty  — to  glut  my  soul  with  the 
abjectness  and  humiliation  of  his  penury — to  strip  him 
of  all  aid,  consolation,  sympathy,  and  friendship  — to 
follow  him,  unseen,  to  his  wretched  and  squalid  home  — 
to  mark  the  struggles  of  the  craving  nature  with  the 
’gathing  pride  — and,  finally,  to  watch  the  frame  wear, 
the  eye  sink,  the  lip  grow  livid,  and  all  the  terrible  and 


204 


PELHAM;  OR, 


torturing  progress  of  gnawing  want,  to  utter  starvation. 
Then,  in  that  last  state,  but  not  before,  I might  reveal 
myself — stand  by  the  hopeless  and  succorless  bed  of 
death  — shriek  out  in  the  dizzy  ear  a name,  which  could 
treble  the  horrors  of  remembrance  — snatch  from  the 
struggling  and  agonizing  conscience  the  last  plank,  the 
last  straw,  to  which  'in  its  madness,  it  could  cling,  and 
blacken  the  shadows  of  departing  life,  by  opening  to  the 
shuddering  sense  the  threshold  of  an  impatient  and  yawn- 
ing hell. 

“ Hurried  away  by  the  unhallowed  fever  of  these  pro- 
jects, I thought  of  nothing  but  their  accomplishment.  I 
employed  Thornton,  who  still  maintained  his  intimacy 
with  TyrreM,  to  decoy  him  more  and  more  to  the  gambling- 
house  ; and,  as  the  unequal  chances  of  the  public  table 
were  not  rapid  enough  in  their  termination  to  consummate 
the  ruin  even  of  an  impetuous  and  vehement  gamester, 
like  Tyrrell,  so  soon  as  my  impatience  desired,  Thornton 
took  every  opportunity  of  engaging  him  in  private  play, 
and  accelerating  my  object  by  the  unlawful  arts  of  which 
he  was  master.  My  enemy  was  every  day  approaching 
the  farthest  verge  of  ruin  ; near  relations  he  had  none,  all 
his  distant  ones  he  had  disobliged  ; all  his  friends,  and 
even  his  acquaintance,  he  had  fatigued  by  his  importunity, 
or  disgusted  by  his  conduct.  In  the  whole  world  there 
seemed  not  a being  who  would  stretch  forth  a helping 
hand  to  save  him  from  the  total  and  penniless  beggary 
to  which  he  was  hopelessly  advancing.  Out  of  the  wrecks 
of  his  former  property,  and  the  generosity  of  former  friends, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  205 

whatever  he  had  already  wrung,  had  been  immediately 
staked  at  the  gaming-house  and  immediately  lost. 

Perhaps  this  would  not  so  soon  have  been  the  case, 
if  Thornton  had  not  artfully  fed  and  sustained  his  ex- 
pectations. He  had  been  long  employed  by  Tyrrell  in  a 
professional  capacity,  and  he  knew  well  all  the  gamester’s 
domestic  affairs  ; and  when  he  promised,  should  things 
come  to  the  worst,  to  find  some  expedient  to  restore  them, 
Tyrrell  easily  adopted  so  flattering  a belief. 

“ Meanwhile,  I had  taken  the  name  and  disguise  under 
favor  of  which  you  met  me  at  Paris,  and  Thornton  had 
introduced  me  to  Tyrrell  as  a young  Englishman  of  great 
wealth,  and  still  greater  inexperience.  The  gambler 
grasped  eagerly  at  an  acquaintance,  which  Thornton 
readily  persuaded  him  he  could  turn  to  such  account: 
and  I had  thus  every  facility  of  marking,  day  by  day, 
how  my  plot  thickened,  and  my  vengeance  hastened  to  its 
triumph. 

“ This  was  not  all.  I said,  there  was  not  in  the  wide 
world  a being  who  would  have  saved  Tyrrell  from  the  fate 
he  deserved  and  was  approaching.  I forgot  there  was  one 
who  still  clung  to  him  with  affection,  and  for  whom  he 
still  seemed  to  harbor  the  better  and  purer  feelings  of 
less  degraded  and  guilty  times.  This  person  (you  will 
euess  readily  it  was  a woman)  I made  it  my  especial 
business  and  care  to  wean  away  from  my  prey  ; I would 
uot  suffer  him  a consolation  he  had  denied  to  me.  I used 
all  the  arts  of  seduction  to  obtain  the  transfer  of  her 
affections.  Whatever  promises  and  vows  — whether  of 
IL  — 18 


206 


PELHAM;  OR, 


love  or  wealth  — could  effect,  were  tried;  nor,  at  last, 
without  success  — I triumphed.  The  woman  became  my 
slave.  It  was  she  who,  wdienever  Tyrrell  faltered  in  his 
course  to  destruction,  combated  his  scruples,  and  urged 
on  his  reluctance  ; it  was  she  who  informed  me  minutely 
of  his  pitiful  finances,  and  assisted,  to  her  utmost,  in  ex- 
pediting their  decay.  The  still  more  bitter  treachery  of 
deserting  him  in  his  veriest  want  I reserved  till  the  fittest 
occasion,  and  contemplated  with  a savage  delight. 

I was  embarrassed  in  my  scheme  by  two  circumstances  : 
first,  Thornton's  acquaintance  with  you  ; and,  secondly, 
Tyrrell’s  receipt  (some  time  afterwards)  of  a very  un- 
expected sum  of  two  hundred  pounds,  in  return  for 
renouncing  all  further  dLX\di possible  claim  on  the  purchasers 
of  his  estate.  To  the  former,  so  far  as  it  might  interfere 
with  my  plans,  or  lead  to  my  detection,  you  must  pardon 
me  for  having  put  a speedy  termination  ; the  latter  threw 
me  into  great  consternation  — for  Tyrrell’s  first  idea  was 
to  renounce  the  gaming-table,  and  endeavor  to  live  upon 
the  trifling  pittance  he  had  acquired,  as  long  as  the 
utmost  economy  would  permit. 

This  idea,  Margaret,  the  woman  I spoke  of,  according 
to  my  instructions,  so  artfully  and  successfully  combated, 
that  Tyrrell  yielded  to  his  natural  inclination,  and  returned 
once  more  to  the  infatuation  of  his  favorite  pursuit 
However,  I had  become  restlessly  impatient  for  the  con- 
clusion to  this  prefatory  part  of  my  revenge,  and,  accord- 
ingly, Thornton  and  myself  arranged  that  Tyrrell  should 
be  persuaded  by  the  former  to  risk  all,  even  to  his  very 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  201 

last  farthing,  in  a private  game  with  me  Tyrrell,  who 
believed  he  should  readily  recruit  himself  by  my  unskilful- 
ness in  the  game,  fell  easily  into  the  snare  ; and  on  the 
second  night  of  our  engagement,  he  not  only  had  lost  the 
whole  of  his  remaining  pittance,  but  had  signed  bonds 
owning  to  a debt  of  far  greater  amount  than  he,  at  that 
time,  could  ever  even  have  dreamt  of  possessing. 

‘^Flushed,  heated,  almost  maddened  with  my  triumph, 
I yielded  to  the  exultation  of  the  moment.  I did  not 
know  you  were  so  near  — I discovered  myself — you 
remember  the  scene.  I went  joyfully  home  : and  for  the 
first  time  since  Gertrude^s  death,  I was  happy  ; but  there 
I imagined  my  vengeance  only  would  begin  ; I revelled  in 
the  burning  hope  of  marking  the  hunger  and  extremity  that 
must  ensue.  The  next  day,  when  Tyrrell  turned  round, 
in  his  despair,  for  one  momentary  word  of  comfort  from 
the  lips  to  which  he  believed,  in  the  fond  credulity  of  his 
heart,  falsehood  and  treachery  never  came,  his  last  earthly 
friend  taunted  and  deserted  him.  Mark  me,  Pelham  — I 
was  by,  and  heard  her  ! 

“ But  here  my  power  of  retribution  was  to  close  : from 
the  thirst  still  unslaked  and  unappeased,  the  cup  was 
abruptly  snatched.  Tyrrell  disappeared  — no  one  knew 
whither.  I set  Thornton’s  inquiries  at  work.  A week 
afterwards  he  brought  me  word  that  Tyrrell  had  died  in 
extreme  want,  and  from  very  despair.  Will  you  credit, 
that  at  hearing  this  news,  my  first  sensations  were  only 
rage  and  disappointment  ? True,  he  had  died,  died  in  all 
the  misery  my  heart  could  wish,  but  I had  not  seen  him 


20^  i^elham;  or, 

die  ; and  the  deatli-bed  seemed  to  me  robbed  of  its  bitter- 
est pang. 

“ I know  not  to  this  day,  though  I have  often  questioned 
him,  what  interest  Thornton  had  in  deceiving  me  by  this 
tale  ; for  my  own  part,  I believe  that  he  himself  was 
deceived  ;*  certain  it  is  (for  I inquired),  that  a person, 
very  much  answering  to  TyrrelPs  description,  had  perished 
in  the  .state  Thornton  mentioned  ; and  this  might  therefore, 
in  all  probability,  have  misled  him. 

“ I left  Paris,  and  returned,  through  Normandy,  to 
England  (where  I remained  some  weeks)  ; there  we  again 
met : but  I think  we  did  not  meet  till  I had  been  perse- 
cuted by  the  insolence  and  importunity  of  Thornton.  The 
tools  of  our  passions  cut  both  ways  ; like  the  monarch, 
who  employed  strange  beasts  in  his  army,  we  find  our 
treacherous  allies  less  destructive  to  others  than  ourselves. 
But  I was  not  of  a temper  to  brook  the  tauntings,  or  the 
encroachment  of  my  own  creature  ; it  had  been  with  but 
an  ill  grace  that  I had  endured  his  familiarity,  when  I 
absolutely  required  his  services,  much  less  could  I suffer 
his  intrusion  when  those  services  — services  not  of  love, 
but  hire  — were  no  longer  necessary.  Thornton,  like  all 
persons  of  his  stamp,  has  a low  pride,  which  I was  con- 
stantly offending.  He  had  mixed  with  men,  more  than 
my  equals  in  rank,  on  a familiar  footing,  and  he  could  ill 
brook  the  hauteur  with  which  my  disgust  at  his  character 
absolutely  constrained  me  to  treat  him.  It  is  true,  that 

* It  seems  (from  subsequent  investigation)  that  this  was  really 
the  case. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  ^209 

the  profuseness  of  my  liberality  was  such,  that  the  mean 
wretch  stomached  affr  )nts  for  which  he  was  so  largely 
paid  ; but,  with  the  cunning  and  malicious  spite  natural 
to  him,  he  knew  well  how  to  repay  them  in  kind.  While 
he  assisted,  he  affected  to  ridicule,  my  revenge  ; and  though 
he  soon  saw  that  he  durst  not,  for  his  very  life,  breathe  a 
syllable  openly  against  Gertrude,  or  her  memory,  yet  he 
contrived,  by  general  remarks,  and  covert  insinuations,  to 
gall  me  to  the  very  quick,  and  in  the  very  tenderest  point. 
Thus  a deep  and  cordial  antipathy  to  each  other  arose, 
and  grew,  and  strengthened,  till,  I believe,  like  the  fiends 
in  hell,  our  mutual  hatred  became  our  common  punish- 
ment. 

“ No  sooner  had  I returned  to  England,  than  I found 
him  here,  awaiting  my  arrival.  He  favored  me  with  fre- 
quent visits  and  requests  for  money.  Although  not  pos- 
sessed of  any  secret  really  important  affecting  my  character, 
he  knew  well,  that  he  was  possessed  of  one  important  to 
my  quiet ; and  he  availed  himself  to  the  utmost  of  my 
strong  and  deep  aversion  even  to  the  most  delicate 
recurrence  to  my  love  to  Gertrude,  and  its  unhallowed  and 
disastrous  termination.  At  length,  however,  he  wearied 
me  : 1 found  that  he  was  sinking  into  the  very  dregs  and 
refuse  of  society,  and  I could  not  longer  brook  the  idea 
of  enduring  his  familiarity  and  feeding  his  vices. 

“I  pass  over  any  detail  of  my  own  feelings,  as  well  as 
my  outward  and  worldly  history.  Over  my  mind,  a 
great  change  had  passed  ; I was  no  longer  torn  by  violent 
and  contending  passions  j upon  the  tumultuous  sea  a dead 
18* 


210 


PELHAM;  OR, 


and  heavy  torpor  had  fallen  ; the  very  winds,  necessary 
for  health,  had  ceased  ; 

‘I  slept  on  the  abyss  without  a surge.* 

One  violent  and  engrossing  passion  is  among  the  worst 
of  all  immoralities,  for  it  leaves  the  mind  too  stagnant 
8nd  exhausted  for  those  activities  and  energies  which 
constitute  our  real  duties.  However,  now  that  the  tyrant 
feeling  of  my  mind  was  removed,  I endeavored  to  shake 
off  the  apathy  it  had  produced,  and  return  to  the  various 
occupations  and  business  of  life.  Whatever  could  divert 
me  from  my  own  dark  memories,  or  give  a momentary 
motion  to  the  stagnation  of  my  mind,  I grasped  at  with 
the  fondness  and  eagerness  of  a child.  Thus,  you  found 
me  surrounding  myself  with  luxuries  which  palled  upon 
my  taste  the  instant  that  their  novelty  had  passed  : now 
striving  for  the  vanity  of  literary  fame  ; now,  for  the 
emptier  baubles  which  riches  could  procure.  At  one  time 
I shrouded  myself  in  my  closet,  and  brooded  over  the 
dogmas  of  the  learned,  and  the  errors  of  the  wise  ; at 
\nother,  I plunged  into  the  more  engrossing  and  active 
pursuits  of  the  living  crowd  which  rolled  around  me, — 
and  flattered  my  heart,  that  amidst  the  appla  use  of  senators, 
and  the  whirlpool  of  affairs,  I could  lull  to  rest  the  voices 
of  the  past,  and  the  spectre  of  the  dead. 

Whether  these  hopes  were  effectual,  and  the  struggle 
not  in  vain,  this  haggard  and  wasting  form,  drooping  day 
by  day  into  the  grave,  can  declare  ; but  I said  ! would 
not  dwell  long  upon  this  part  of  my  history,  nor  is  it 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  211 

necessary.  Of  one  thing  only,  no^t  connected  with  the 
main  part  of  my  confessions,  it  is  right,  for  the  sake  of 
one  tender  and  guiltless  being,  that  I should  speak. 

In  the  cold  and  friendless  world  with  which  I mixed, 
there  was  a heart  which  had  years  ago  given  itself  wholly 
up  to  me.  At  that  time  I was  ignorant  of  the  gift  I so 
little  deserved,  or  (for  it  was-  before  I knew  Gertrude)  I 
might  have  returned  it,  and  been  saved  years  of  crime  and 
anguish.  Since  then,  the  person  I allude  to  had  married, 
and,  by  the  death  of  her  husband,  was  once  more  free. 
Intimate  with  my  family,  and  more  especially  with  my 
sister,  she  now  met  me  constantly  ; her  compassion  for  the 
change  she  perceived  in  me,  both  in  mimi  and  person,  was 
stronger  than  even  her  reserve,  and  this  is  the  only  reason 
why  I speak  of  an  attachment  which  ought  otherwise  to 
be  concealed : I believe  that  you  already  understand  to 
whom  I allude,  and  since  you  have  discovered  her  weak- 
ness, it  is  right  that  you  should  know  also  her  virtue  ; it 
is  right  that  you  should  learn,  that  it  was  not  in  her  the 
fantasy,  or  passion  of  a moment,  but  a long  and  secreted 
love  ; that  you  should  learn,  that  it  was  her  pity,  and  no 
unfeminine  disregard  to  opinion,  which  betrayed  her  into 
imprudence,  and  that  she  is,  at  this  moment,  innocent  of 
everything,  but  the  folly  of  loving  w.e. 

I pass  on  to  the  time  when  I discovered  that  I had 
been,  either  intentionally  or  unconsciously,  deceived,  and 
that  my  enemy  yet  lived  ! lived  in  honor,  prosperity,  and 
whe  world’s  blessings.  This  information  was  like  removing 
r barrier  from  a stream  hitherto  pent  into  quiet  and  re- 


212 


PELHAM;  OR, 


straint.  All  the  storiny  thoughts,  feelings,  and  passions^ 
so  long  at  rest,  rushed  again  into  a terrible  and  tumultuous 
action.  The  newly-formed  stratum  of  my  mind  was  swept 
away  ; everything  seemed  a wreck,  a chaos,  a convulsion 
of  jarring  elements  : but  this  is  a trite  and  tame  descrip- 
tion of  my  feelings  ; words  would  be  but  commonplace  to 
express  the  revulsion  which  I experienced  : yet,  amidst  all, 
there  was  one  paramount  and  presiding  thought,  to  which 
the  rest  were  as  atoms  in  the  heap  — the  awakened 
thought  of  vengeance  1 — but  how  was  it  to  be  gratiSed  ? 

Placed  as  Tyrrell  now  was  in  the  scale  of  society, 
every  method  of  retribution  but  the  one  formerly  rejected, 
seemed  at  an  end.  To  that  one,  therefore,  weak  and 
merciful  as  it  appeared  to  me,  I resorted  — you  took  my 
challenge  to  Tyrrell  — you  remember  his  behavior  — 
Conscience  doth  indeed  make  cowards  of  us  all  ! The 
letter  inclosed  to  me  in  his  to  you,  contained  only  the 
commonplace  argument  urged  so  often  by  those  who  have 
injured  us  : viz.  the  reluctance  at  attempting  our  life  after 
having  ruined  our  happiness.  When  I found  that  he  had 
left  London,  my  rage  knew  no  bounds  ; I was  absolutely 
frantic  with  indignation  ; the  earth  reeled  before  my  eyes  ; 
I was  almost  suffocated  by  the  violence  — the  whirtpool 
— of  my  emotions.  1 gave  myself  no  time  to  think,  — 1 
left  town  in  pursuit  of  my  foe. 

“I  found  that — still  addicted,  though,  I believe,  not 
BO  madly  as  before,  to  his  old  amusements  — he  was  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Newmarket,  awaiting  the  races, 
shortly  to  ensue.  No  sooner  did  I find  his  address,  than 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


213 


j wrote  him  another  challenge,  still  more  forcibly  and 
insulcingly  worded  than  the  one  you  took.  In  this  I said 
that  his  refusal  was  of  no  avail  ; that  I had  sworn  that 
my  vengeance  should  overtake  him  ; and  that  sooner  or 
later,  in  the  face  of  heaven  and  despite  of  hell,  my  oath 
should  be  fulfilled.  Kemember  those  words,  Pelham  : I 
shall  refer  to  them  hereafter. 

“ TyrrelPs  reply  was  short  and  contemptuous  ; he  affect- 
ed to  treat  me  as  a madman.  Perhaps  (and  I confess  that 
the  incoherence  of  my  letter  authorized  such  suspicion) 
he  believed  I really  was  one.  He  concluded  by  saying, 
that  if  he  received  more  of  my  letters,  he  should  shekel 
himself  from  my  aggressions  by  the  protection  of  the  law. 

“ On  receiving  this  reply,  a stern,  sullen,  iron  spirit 
entered  into  my  bosom.  I betrayed  no  external  mark  of 
passion  ; I sat  down  in  silence  — I placed  the  letter  and 
Gertrude’s  picture  before  me.  There,  still  and  motionless, 
I remained  for  hours.  I remember  well,  I was  awakened 
from  my  gloomy  reverie  by  the  clock,  as  it  struck  the  first 
hour  of  the  morning.  At  that  lone  and  ominous  sound,, 
the  associations  of  romance  and  dread  which  the  fables 
of  our  childhood  connect  with  it,  rushed  coldly  and  fear- 
fully into  my  mind  ; the  damp  dews  broke  out  upon  my 
forehead,  and  the  blood  curdled  in  my  limbs.  In  that 
moment  I knelt  down  and  vowed  a frantic  and  deadly 
oath  — the  words  of  which  I would  not  now  dare  to 
repeat  — that  before  three  days  expired,  hell  should  no 
longer  be  cheated  of  its  prey.  I rose  — I flung  myself 
on  my  bed,  and  slept. 


2U 


PELHAM;  OR, 


The  next  day  I left  my  abode.  I purchased  a strong 
and  swift  horse,  and,  disguising  myself  from  head  to  foot 
in  a long  horseman’s  cloak,  I set  off  alone,  locking  in  my 
heart  the  calm  and  cold  conviction,  that  my  oath  should 
be  kept.  I placed,  concealed  in  my  dress,  two  pistols ; my 
intention  was  to  follow  Tyrrell  wherever  he  w^ent,  till  w^e 
could  find  ourselves  alone,  and  without  the  chance  of 
intrusion.  It  was  then  my  determination  to  force  him 
into  a contest,  and  that  no  trembling  of  the  hand,  no  error 
of  the  swimming  sight,  might  betray  my  purpose,  to  place 
us  foot  to  foot,  and  the  mouth  of  each  pistol  almost  to 
the  very  temple  of  each  antagonist.  Nor  was  I deterred 
for  a moment  from  this  resolution  b}^  the  knowledge  that 
my  ow'ii  death  must  be  as  certain  as  my  victim’s.  On  the 
contrary,  I looked  forward  to  dying  thus,  and  so  baffling 
the  more  lingering,  but  not  less  sure,  disease,  wiiich  w^as 
daily  wasting  me  away,  with  the  same  fierce,  yet  not  un- 
quiet delight  w^ith  which  men  have  rushed  into  battle,  and 
sought  out  a death  less  bitter  to  them  than  life. 

^‘For  tw^o  days,  though  I each  day  saw"  Tyrrell,  fate 
threw  into  my  way  no  opportunity  of  executing  my  design. 
The  morning  of  the  third  came  — Tyrrell  w-as  on  the  race 
ground  : sure  that  he  would  remain  there  for  some  hours, 
I put  up  my  wearied  horse  in  the  town,  and  seating 
myself  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  course,  w"as  contented 
with  watching,  as  the  serpent  does  his  victim,  the  distant 
motions  of  my  enemy.  Perhaps  you  can  recollect  passing 
a man  seated  on  the  ground,  and  robed  in  a horseman’s 
cloak.  I need  not  tell  you  that  it  was  I whom  you  passed 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


215 


and  accosted.  I saw  you  ride  by  me  ; but  the  moment 
you  were  gone,  I forgot  tlie  occurrence.  I looked  upon 
the  rolling  and  distant  crowd,  as  a child  views  the  figures 
of  the  phantasmagoria,  scarcely  knowing  if  my  eyes 
deceived  me,  feeling  impressed  with  some  stupefying  and 
ghastly  sensation  of  dread,  and  cherishing  the  conviction 
that  my  life  was  not  as  the  life  of  the  creatures  that  passed 
before  me. 

“The  day  waned  — I went  back  for  my  horse  — I re- 
turned to  the  course,  and,  keeping  at  a distance  as  little 
suspicious  as  possible,  followed  the  motions  of  Tyrrell. 
He  went  back  to  the  town — rested  there — repaired  to 
a gaming-table  — stayed  at  it  a short  time  — returned  to 
his  inn,  and  ordered  his  horse. 

“ In  all  these  motions  I followed  the  object  of  my 
pursuit;  and  my  heart  bounded  with  joy  when  I,  at  last, 
saw  him  set  out  alone,  and  in  the  advancing  twilight.  I 
followed  him  till  he  left  the  main  road.  Now,  I thought, 
was  my  time.  I redoubled  my  pace,  and  had  nearly 
reached  him,  when  some  horsemen  appearing,  constrained 
me  again  to  slacken  my  pace.  Various  other  similar 
interruptions  occurred  to  delay  my  plot.  At  length  all 
was  undisturbed.  I spurred  my  horse,  and  was  nearly  on 
the  heels  of  my  enemy,  when  I perceived  him  join  another 
man — this  was  you — I clenched  my  teeth,  and  drew  my 
breath,  as  I once  more  retreated  to  a distance.  In  a short 
time  two  men  passed  me,  and  I found,  that,  owing  to  some 
accident  on  the  road,  they  stopped  to  assist  you.  It 
appears  by  your  evidence  on  a subsequent  event,  that 


216 


PELHAM;  OR, 

these  men  were  Thornton  and  his  friend  Dawson  : at  the 
time,  they  passed  too  rai>idly,  and  I was  too  much  occu- 
pied ill  my  own  dark  thouglits,  to  observe  them  : still  I 
kept  up  to  you  and  Tyrrell,  sometimes  catching  the  out- 
line of  your  figures  through  the  moonlight,  at  others, 
(with  the  acute  sense  of  anxiety,)  only  just  distinguishing 
tne  clang  of  your  horses’  hoofs  on  the  stony  ground.  At 
last,  a heavy  sliower  came  on  ; imagine  my  joy,  when 
Tyrrell  left  you  and  rode  off  alone  ! 

“ I passed  you,  and  followed  my  enemy  as  fast  as  my 
horse  would  permit ; but  it  was  not  equal  to  Tyrrell’s, 
which  was  almost  at  its  full  speed.  However,  I came,  at 
last,  to  a very  steep,  and  almost  precipitous,  descent,  j 
was  forced  to  ride  slowly  and  cautiously;  this,  however, 
I the  less  regarded,  from  my  conviction  that  Tyrrell  must 
be  obliged  to  use  the  same  precaution.  My  hand  was  on 
my  pistol  with  the  grasp  of  premeditated  revenge,  when  a 
shrill,  sharp  solitary  cry  broke  on  my  ear. 

“ No  sound  followed  — all  was  silence.  I was  just  ap- 
proaching towards  the  close  of  the  descent,  when  a horse 
without  its  rider  passed  me.  The  shower  had  ceased,  and 
the  moon  broken  from  the  cloud  some  minutes  before  ; by 
its  light,  I recognized  the  horse  rode  by  Tyrrell ; perhaps, 
I thought,  it  has  thrown  its  master,  and  my  victim  will 
now  be  utterly  in  my  power.  I pushed  hastily  forward  in 
spite  of  the  hill,  not  yet  wholly  passed.  I came  to  a spot 
of  singular  desolation  — it  was  a broad  patch  of  waste 
laud,  a pool  of  water  was  on  the  right,  and  a remarkable 
and  withered  tree  hung  over  it.  I looked  r.)und  but  saw 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  217 

nothing  of  life  stirring.  A dark  and  imperfectly  developed 
object  lay  by  the  side  of  the  pond  — I pressed  forward  — 
merciful  God  1 my  enemy  had  escaped  my  hand,  and  lay  in 
the  stillness  of  death  before  me  1 ” 

What  ! ” I exclaimed,  interrupting  Glanville,  for  1 
could  contain  myself  no  longer,  ^‘it  was  not  by  you  then 
that  Tyrrell  fell  ? With  these  words,  I grasped  his  hand  ; 
and,  excited  as  I had  been  by  my  painful  and  wrought-up 
interest  in  his  recital,  I burst  into  tears  of  gratitude  and 
joy.  Reginald  Glanville  was  innocent  — Ellen  was  not 
the  sister  of  an  assassin  ! 

After  a short  pause,  Glanville  continued  — 

“ I gazed  upon  the  upward  and  distorted  face,  in  a 
deep  and  sickening  silence  ; an  awe,  dark  and  undefined, 
crept  over  my  heart ; I stood  beneath  the  solemn  and 
sacred  heavens,  and  felt  that  the  hand  of  God  was  upon 
me  — that  a mysterious  and  fearful  edict  had  gone  forth 
■ — that  my  headlong  and  unholy  wrath  had,  in  the  very 
midst  of  its  fury,  been  checked,  as  if  but  the  idle  anger  of 
a child  — that  the  plan  I had  laid  in  the  foolish  wisdom 
of  my  heart,  had  been  traced,  step  by  step,  by  an  all- 
seeing  eye,  and  baffled  in  the  moment  of  its  fancied  suc- 
cess, by  an  inscrutable  and  awful  doom.  I had  wished 
the  death  of  my  enemy  — lo  1 my  wish  was  accomplished 
— how,  I neither  knew  nor  guessed  — there,  a still  and 
senseless  clod  of  earth,  without  power  of  offence  or  injury 
he  lay  beneath  ray  feet  — it  seemed  as  if,  in  the  moment 
of  my  uplifted  arm,  the  Divine  avenger  had  asserted  His 
prerogative  — as  if  the  angel  which  had  smitten  the  As- 
II.  — 19 


PELHAM;  OR, 


21 S 

.Syrian,  had  again  swept  forth,  though  against  a meaner 
victim  — and,  while  he  punished  the  guilt  of  a human 
criminal,  had  set  an  eternal  barrier  to  the  vengeance  of 
a human  foe  ! 

I dismounted  from  my  horse,  and  bent  over  the  mur- 
dered man.  I drew  from  my  bosom  the  miniature,  which 
never  forsook  me,  and  bathed  the  lifeless  resemblance  of 
Gertrude  in  the  blood  of  her  betrayer.  Scarcely  had  I 
done  so,  before  my  ear  caught  the  sounds  of  steps  ; hastily 
I thrust,  as  I thought,  the  miniature  in  my  bosom,  re- 
mounted, and  rode  hurriedly  away.  At  that  hour,  and  for 
many  which  succeeded  to  it,  I believe  that  all  sense  was 
suspended.  I was  like  a man  haunted  by  a dream,  and 
wandering  under  its  influence ; or  as  one  whom  a spectre 
pursues,  and  for  whose  eye,  the  breathing  and  busy  world 
is  but  as  a land  of  unreal  forms  and  flitting  shadows, 
teeming  with  the  monsters  of  darkness,  and  the  terrors 
of  the  tomb. 

It  was  not  till  the  next  day  that  I missed  the  picture. 
I returned  to  the  spot  — searched  it  carefully,  but  in  vain 
— the  miniature  could  not  be  found  ; I returned  to  town, 
and  shortly  afterwards  the  newspapers  informed  me  of 
what  had  subsequently  occurred.  I saw,  with  dismay, 
that  all  appearances  pointed  to  me  as  the  criminal,  and 
that  the  officers  of  justice  w'ere  at  that  moment  tracing 
the  clue  w^hich  my  cloak,  and  the  color  of  my  horse,  afford- 
ed them.  My  mysterious  pursuit  of  Tyrrell : the  disguise 
I had  assumed  ; the  circumstance  of  my  passing  you  on 
the  road,  and  of  my  flight  when  you  approached,  all  spoka 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN  219 

volumes  against  me.  A stronger  evidence  yet  remained, 
and  it  was  reserved  for  Thornton  to  indicate  it — at  this 
moment  my  life  is  in  his  hands.  Shortly  after  my  return 
to  town,  he  forced  his  way  into  my  room,  shut  the  door 
— bolted  it  — and,  the  moment  we  were  alone,  said,  with 
a savage  and  fiendish  grin  of  exultation  and  defiance, — 
^ Sir  Reginald  Glanville,  you  have  many  a time  and  oft 
insulted  me  with  your  pride,  and  more  with  your  gifts ; 
now  it  is  my  time  to  insult  and  triumph  over  you  — know 
that  one  word  of  mine  could  sentence  you  to  the  gibbet.^ 

''  He  then  minutely  summed  up  the  evidence  against 
me,  and  drew  from  his  pocket  the  threatening  letter  I had 
last  written  to  Tyrrell.  You  remember  that  therein  I 
said  my  vengeance  was  sworn  against  him,  and  that, 
sooner  or  later,  it  should  overtake  him.  ‘ Couple,’  said 
Thornton,  coldly,  as  he  replaced  the  letter  in  his  pocket 
— ‘ couple  these  words  with  the  evidence  already  against 
you,  and  I would  not  buy  your  life  at  a farthing’s  value.’ 

How  Thornton  came  by  this  paper,  so  important  to 
my  safety,  I know  not : but  when  he  read  it,  I was  startled 
by  the  danger  it  brought  upon  me  ; one  glance  sufficed  to 
show  me  that  I was  utterly  at  the  mercy  of  the  villain 
who  stood  before  me  : he  saw  and  enjoyed  my  struggles. 

'“Now,’  said  he,  'we  know  each  other;  — at  present 
I want  a thousand  pounds  ; you  will  not  refuse  it  me,  I am 
sure  ; when  it  is  gone  I shall  call  again  ; till  then  you  can 
do  without  me.’  I flung  hizn  a cheque  for  the  money,  and 
he  departed. 

"You  may  conceive  the  mortification  I endured  in 


220 


PELHAM;  OR, 


this  sacrifice  of  pride  to  prudence  : but  those  were  no 
ordinary  motives  which  induced  me  to  submit  to  it.  Fast 
approaching  to  the  grave,  it  mattered  to  me  but  little 
A^hether  a violent  death  should  shorten  a life  to  which  a 
limit  was  already  set,  and  w^hich  I was  far  from  being 
anxious  to  retain  ; but  I could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  bringing  upon  my  mother  and  my  sister,  the  wretched- 
ness and  shame  which  the  mere  suspicion  of  a crime  so 
enormous,  would  occasion  them  ; and  when  my  eye  caught 
all  the  circumstances  arrayed  against  me,  my  pride  seemed 
to  suffer  a less  mortification  even  in  the  course  I adopted 
than  in  the  thought  of  the  felon’s  gaol,  and  the  criminal’s 
trial ; the  hoots  and  execration  of  the  mob,  and  the  death 
and  ignominious  remembrance  of  the  murderer. 

Stronger  than  either  of  these  motives,  was  my  shrinking 
and  loathing  aversion  to  whatever  seemed  at  all  likely 
to  unrip  the  secret  history  of  the  past.  I sickened  at  the 
thought  of  Gertrude’s  name  and  fate  being  bared  to  the 
vulgar  eye,  and  exposed  to  the  comment,  the  strictures, 
the  ridicule  of  the  gaping  and  curious  public.  It  seemed 
to  me,  therefore,  but  a very  poor  exertion  of  philosophy  to 
conquer  my  feelings  of  humiliation  at  Thornton’s  insolence 
and  triumph,  and  to  console  myself  with  the  reflection, 
that  a few  months  must  rid  me  alike  of  his  exactions  and 
my  life. 

“But,  of  late,  Thornton’s  persecutions  and  demands 
have  risen  to  such  a height,  that  I have  been  scarcely 
able  to  restrain  my  indignation  and  control  myself  into 
compliance.  The  struggle  is  too  powerful  for  my  frame; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  221 

it  is  rapidly  bringing  on  the  fiercest  and  last  contest  I 
shall  suffer,  before  ‘the  wicked  shall  cease  from  troubling, 
and  the  weary  be  at  rest.’  Some  days  since,  I came  to 
a resolution,  which  I am  now  about  to  execute;  it  is  to 
leave  this  country  and  take  refuge  on  the  continent. 
There  I shall  screen  myself  from  Thornton’s  pursuit,  and 
the  danger  which  it  entails  upon  me  ; and  there,  unknown 
and  undisturbed,  I shall  await  the  termination  of  my 
disease. 

“ But  two  duties  remained  to  me  to  fulfil  before  I 
departed  ; I have  now  discharged  them  both.  One  was 
due  to  the  warm-hearted  and  noble  being  who  honored 
me  with  her  interest  and  affection  — the  other  to  you.  I 
went  yesterday  to  the  former ; I sketched  the  outline  of 
that  history  which  I have  detailed  to  you.  I showed  her 
the  waste  of  my  barren  heart,  and  spoke  to  her  of  the 
disease  which  was  wearing  me  away.  How  beautiful  is 
the  love  of  woman  ! She  would  have  followed  me  over 
the  world  — received  my  last  sigh,  and  seen  me  to  the 
rest  I shall  find,  at  length  ; and  this  without  a hope,  or 
thought  of  recompense,  even  from  the  worthlessness  of 
my  love. 

“But,  enough! — of  her  my  farewell  has  been  taken. 
Your  suspicions  I have  seen  and  forgiven  — for  they  were 
natural ; it  was  due  to  me  to  remove  them  : the  pressure 
of  jour  hand  tells  me,  that  I have  done  so  : but  I had 
another  reason  for  my  confessions.  I have  worn  away 
the  romance  of  my  heart,  and  I have  now  no  indulgence 

tor  the  little  delicacies  and  petty  scruples  which  often 

IQ  * 


222 


PELHAM;  OR 


fctand  in  the  way  of  our  real  happiness.  I have  marked 
your  former  addresses  to  Ellen,  and,  I confess,  with  great 
joy  ; for  I know,  amidst  all  your  worldly  ambition,  and 
the  encrusted  artificiality  of  your  exterior,  how  warm  and 
generous  is  your  real  heart  — how  noble  and  intellectual 
is  your  real  mind  : and  were  my  sister  tenfold  more  perfect 
than  I believe  her,  I do  not  desire  to  find  on  earth  one 
more  deserving  of  her  than  yourself.  I have  remarked 
your  late  estrangement  from  Ellen  ; and,  while  I guessed^ 
I felt  that,  however  painful  to  me,  I ought  to  remove^ 
the  cause  : she  loves  you  — though,  perhaps,  you  know  it 
not  — much  and  truly ; and*  since  my  earlier  life  has  been 
passed  in  a selfish  inactivity,  I would  fain  let  it  close  with 
the  reflection  of  having  served  two  beings  whom  I prize 
so  dearly,  and  the  hope  that  their  happiness  will  commence 
with  my  death. 

^‘And  now,  Pelham,  I have  done  ; I am  weak  and  ex- 
hausted, and  cannot  bear  more  — even  of  your  society, 
now.  Think  over  what  I have  last  said,  and  let  me  see 
you  again  to-morrow ; on  the  day  after,  I leave  England 
for  ever.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


22^ 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

♦ 5jC  * HS  * 

But  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above, 

And  the  Heavens  reject  not. 

The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 

The  devotion  to  something  afar 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow? — P.  B.  Shelley. 

It  was  not  with  a light  heart  — for  I loved  Glanville 
too  well,  not  to  be  powerfully  affected  by  his  awful  history 
— but  with  a chastised  and  sober  joy,  that  I now  beheld 
my  friend  innocent  of  the  guilt  of  which  my  suspicions 
had  accused  him,  while  the  only  obstacle  to  my  marriage 
with  his  sister  was  removed.  True  it  was  that  the  sword 
yet  hung  over  his  head,  and  that  while  he  lived,  there 
could  be  no  rational  assurance  of  his  safety  from  the 
disgrace  and  death  of  the  felon.  In  the  world^s  eye, 
therefore,  the  barrier  to  my  union  with  Ellen  would  have 
been  far  from  being  wholly  removed  ; but,  at  that  moment, 
my  disappointments  had  disgusted  me  with  the  world, 
and  I turned  with  a double  yearning  of  heart  to  her  whose 
pure  and  holy  love  could  be  at  once  my  recompense  and 
retreat. 

Nor  was  this  selfish  consideration  my  only  motive  in 
the  conduct  I was  resolved  to  adopt;  on  the  contrary,  it 
was  scarcely  more  prominent  in  my  mind,  than  those 


224  PELHAM;  OR, 

derived  from  giving  to  a friend  who  was  now  dearer  to 
me  than  ever,  his  only  consolation  on  this  earth,  and  to 
Ellen  the  safest  protection,  in  case  of  any  danger  to  her 
brother.  With  these,  it  is  true,  were  mingled  feelings 
which,  in  happier  circumstances,  might  have  been  those 
of  transport  at  a bright  and  successful  termination  to  a 
deep  and  devoted  love ; but  these  I had,  while  Glanville’s 
very  life  was  so  doubtful,  little  right  to  indulge,  and  I 
checked  them  as  soon  as  they  arose. 

After  a sleepless  night  I repaired  to  Lady  Glanville’s 
house.  It  was  long  since  1 had  been  there,  and  the 
servant  who  admitted  me  seemed  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  earliness  of  my  visit.  I desired  to  see  the  mother, 
and  waited  in  the  parlor  till  she  came.  I made  but  a 
scanty  exordium  to  my  speech.  In  very  few  words  I ex- 
pressed my  love  to  Ellen,  and  besought  her  mediation  in 
my  behalf ; nor  did  I think  it  would  be  a slight  considera- 
tion in  my  favor,  with  the  fond  mother,  to  mention 
Glanville^s  approbation  of  my  suit. 

“Ellen  is  up  stairs  in  the  drawing-room,^^  said  Lady 
Glanville.  I will  go  and  prepare  her  to  receive  you  — 
if  you  have  her  consent,  you  have  mine.” 

“ Will  you  suffer  me  then,”  said  I,  “ to  forestall  you  ? 
Forgive  my  impatience,  and  let  me  see  her  before  you  do,” 

Lady  Glanville  was  a woman  of  the  good  old  school, 
and  stood  somewhat  upon  forms  and  ceremonies.  I did 
not,  therefore,  await  the  answer,  which  I foresaw  might 
not  be  favorable  to  my  success,  but  with  my  customary 
assurance,  left  the  room,  and  hastened  up  stairs.  I entered 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


225 


the  drawing-room,  and  shut  the  door.  Ellen  was  at  the 
far  end ; and  as  I entered  with  a light  step,  she  did  not 
perceive  me  till  I was  close  by. 

She  started  when  she  saw  me  ; and  her  cheek,  before 
very  pale,  deepened  into  crimson.  Good  Heavens  ! is 
it  you  ! she  said  falteringly.  I — I thought  — but — - 
but  excuse  me  for  an  instant,  I will  call  my  mother.’^ 

‘‘  Stay  for  one  instant,  I beseech  you  — it  is  from  your 
mother  that  I come  — she  has  referred  me  to  you.’’  And 
with  a trembling  and  hurried  voice,  for  all  my  usual  bold- 
ness forsook  me,  I poured  forth,  in  rapid  and  burning 
words,  the  history  of  my  secret  and  hoarded  love  — its 
doubts,  fears,  and  hopes, 

Ellen  sank  back  on  her  chair,  overpowered  and  silenced 
by  her  feelings,  and  the  vehemence  of  my  own.  I knelt, 
and  took  her  hand  ; I covered  it  with  my  kisses  — it  was 
not  withdrawn  from  them.  I raised  my  eyes,  and  beheld 
in  hers  all  that  my  heart  had  hoped,  but  did  not  dare  to 
portray. 

“ You  — you,”  said  she  — when  at  last  she  found  words 
— I imagined  that  you  only  thought  of  ambition  and 
the  world  — I could  not  have  dreamt  of  this.”  She 
ceased,  blushing  and  embarrassed. 

It  is  true,”  said  I,  that  you  had  a right  to  think  so, 
for,  till  this  moment,  I have  never  opened  to  you  even  a 
glimpse  of  my  veiled  heart,  and  its  secret  and  wild  desires  ; 
but  do  you  think  that  my  love  was  the  less  a treasure, 
because  it  was  hidden  ? or  the  less  deep  because  it  was 
cherished  at  the  bottom  of  my  soul  ? No  — no  ; believe 


226 


PELHAM;  OR, 


me,  that  love  was  not  to  be  mingled  with  the  ordinary 
objects  of  life  — it  was  too  pure  to  be  profaned  by  the 
levities  and  follies  which  are  all  of  my  nature  that  I have 
permitted  myself  to  develope  to  the  world.  Do  not  im- 
agine, that,  because  I have  seemed  an  idler  with  the  idle 
— selfish  with  the  interested  — and  cold,  and  vain,  and 
frivolous,  with  those  to  whom  such  qualities  were  both  a 
passport  and  a virtue  ; do  not  imagine  that  I have  con- 
cealed within  me  nothing  more  worthy  of  you  and  of 
myself;  my  very  love  for  you  shows  that  I am  wiser  and 
better  than  I have  seemed.  Speak  to  me,  Ellen  — may 
I call  you  by  that  name  — one  word  — one  syllable  ! speak 
to  me,  and  tell  me  that  you  have  read  my  heart,  and 
that  you  will  not  reject  it ! ’’ 

There  came  no  answer  from  those  dear  lips;  but  their 
soft  and  tender  smile  told  me  that  I might  hope.  That 
hour  I still  recall  and  bless  1 that  hour  was  happiest 
of  my  life. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


221 


CHAPTER  LXXYII. 

A thousand  crowns,  or  else  lay  down  your  head. 

^nd  Part  of  Henry  VI. 

From  Ellen,  I hastened  to  the  house  of  Sir  Reginald. 
The  hall  was  in  all  the  confusion  of  approaching  depar- 
ture. I sprang  over  the  paraphernalia  of  books  and  boxes 
which  obstructed  ray  way,  and  bounded  up  the  stairs. 
Glanville  was,  as  usual,  alone  : his  countenance  was  less 
pale  than  it  had  been  lately,  and  when  I saw  it  brighten 
as  I approached,  I hoped,  in  the  new  happiness  of  ray 
heart,  that  he  might  baffle  both  his  enemy  and  his  disease. 

I told  him  all  that  had  just  occurred  between  Ellen  and 
myself.  “And  now,”  said  I,  as  I clasped  his  hand,  “ I 
have  a proposal  to  make,  to  which  you  must  accede  : let 
me  accompany  you  abroad  ; I will  go  with  you  to  whatever 
corner  of  the  world  you  may  select.  We  will  plan  together 
every  possible  method  of  concealing  our  retreat.  Upon 
the  past  I will  never  speak  to  you.  In  your  hours  of 
solitude  I will  never  disturb  you  by  an  unwelcome  and 
ill-timed  sympathy.  I will  tend  upon  you,  watch  over 
you,  bear  with  you,  with  more  than  the  love  and  tender- 
ness of  a a brother.  You  shall  see  me  only  when  you  wish 
it.  Your  loneliness  shall  never  be  invaded.  When  you 
get  better,  as  I presage  you  will,  I will  leave  you  to  come 
nack  to  England,  and  provide  for  the  worst,  by  ensuring 


PELHAM;  OR, 


228 

your  sister  a protector.  I will  then  return  to  you  alone, 
that  your  seclusion  may  not  be  endangered  by  the  know- 
ledge, even  of  Ellen,  and  you  shall  have  me  by  your  side 
till  — till— ’’ 

The  last ! interrupted  Glanville.  Too  — too  gener- 
ous Pelham,  I feel  — these  tears  (the  first  I have  shed  for 
a long,  long  time)  tell  you,  that  I feel  to  the  heart  — 
your  friendship  and  disinterested  attachment ; but  in  the 
moment  your  love  for  Ellen  has  become  successful,  I will 
not  tear  you  from  its  enjoyment.  Believe  me,  all  that  I 
could  derive  from  your  society,  could  not  afford  me  half 
the  happiness  I should  have  in  knowing  that  you  and 
Ellen  w^ere  blest  in  each  other.  No  — no,  my  solitude 
wdll,  at  that  reflection,  be  deprived  of  its  sting.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  once  again  ; my  letter  shall  contain  a request, 
and  your  executing  that  last  favor  must  console  and  satisfy 
the  kindness  of  your  heart.  For  myself,  I shall  die  as  I 
have  lived  — alone.  All  fellowship  with  my  griefs  would 
seem  to  me  strange  and  unwelcome. 

I would  not  suffer  Glanville  to  proceed.  I interrupted 
him  with  fresh  arguments  and  entreaties,  to  which  he 
seemed  at  last  to  submit,  and  I was  in  the  firm  hope 
of  having  conquered  his  determination,  when  w^e  wer? 
startled  by  a sudden  and  violent  noise  in  the  hall. 

It  is  Thornton,^’  said  Glanville,  calmly.  I told  them 
not  to  admit  him,  and  he  is  forcing  his  way.” 

Scarcely  had  Sir  Reginald  said  this,  before  Thornton 
burst  abruptly  into  the  room. 

Although  it  was  scarcely  noon,  he  was  more  than  half 


ADVEI^TURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  229 


intoxicated,  and  his  eyes  swam  in  his  head  with  a maudlin 
expression  of  triumph  and  insolence  as  he  rolled  towards 
us. 

“ Oh,  oh  ! Sir  Reginald,’’  he  said,  “thought  of  giving 
me  the  slip,  eh  ? Your  d — d servants  said  you  were  out ; 
but  I soon  silenced  them.  Egad,  I made  them  as  nimble 
as  cows  in  a cage  — I have  not  learnt  the  use  of  my  fists 
for  nothing.  So,  you’re  going  abroad  to-morrow ; without 
my  leave,  too,  — pretty  good  joke  that,  indeed.  Come, 
come,  my  brave  fellow,  you  need  not  scowl  at  me  in  that 
way.  Why,  you  look  as  surly  as  a butcher’s  dog  with  a 
broken  head.” 

Glanville,  who  was  livid  with  ill-suppressed  rage,  rose 
haughtily. 

“ Mr.  Thoruton,”  he  said,  in  a calm  voice,  although  he 
was  trembling  in  his  extreme  passion,  from  head  to  foot, 

I am  not  now  prepared  to  submit  to  your  insolence  and 
intrusion.  You  will  leave  this  room  instantly.  If  you 
have  any  further  demands  upon  me,  I will  hear  them  to- 
night, at  any  hour  you  please  to  appoint.” 

“No,  no,  my  fine  fellow,”  said  Thornton,  with  a coarse 
chuckle;  “you  have  as  much  wit  as  three  folks, — two 
fools,  and  a madman  1 but  you  won’t  do  me,  for  all  that 
The  instant  my  back  is  turned,  yours  will  be  turned  too  ; 
and  by  the  time  I call  again,  your  honor  will  be  half-way 
to  Calais.  But  — bless  my  stars,  Mr.  Pelham,  is  that 
you  ? I really  did  not  see  you  before  ; I suppose  you  are 
not  in  the  secret  ? ” 

“I  have  no  secrets  from  Mr.  Pelham,”  said  Glanville; 
IL  — 20 


230 


PELHAM;  OR, 


‘^nor  do  I care  if  you  discuss  the  whole  of  your  nefarious 
transactions  with  me  in  his  presence.  Since  you  doubt  ray 
word,  it  is  beneath  my  dignity  to  vindicate  it,  and  your 
business  can  as  well  be  despatched  now,  as  hereafter. 
You  have  heard  rightly,  that  I intend  leaving  England 
to-morrow : and  now,  sir,  what  is  your  will  ? ’’ 

By  G — , Sir  Reginald  Glanville  ! ” exclaimed  Thorn- 
ton, who  seemed  stung  to  the  quick  by  Glanville’s  con- 
temptuous coldness,  “you  shall  no^ leave  England  without 
my  leave.  Ay,  you  may  frown,  but  I say  you  shall  not ; 
nay,  you  shall  not  budge  a foot  from  this  very  room  unless 
I cry,  'Be  it  so  ! ’ 

Glanville  could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  He  would 
have  sprung  towards  Thornton,  but  I seized  and  arrested 
him.  I read,  in  the  malignant  and  incensed  countenance 
of  his  persecutor,  all  the  danger  to  which  a single  impru- 
dence would  have  exposed  him,  and  I trembled  for  his 
safety. 

I whispered,  as  I forced  him  again  to  his  seat,  “ Leave 
me  alone  to  settle  with  this  man,  and  I will  endeavor  to 
free  you  from  him.^^  I did  not  tarry  for  his  answer,  but^ 
turning  to  Thornton,  said  to  him  coolly  but  civilly;  “Sir 
Reginald  Glanville  has  acquainted  me  with  the  nature  of 
your  very  extraordinary  demands  upon  him.  Did  he 
adopt  my  advice,  he  would  immediately  place  the  affair 
in  the. hands  of  his  legal  advisers.  His  ill  health,  however, 
his  anxiety  to  leave  England,  and  his  wish  to  sacrifice 
almost  everything  to  quiet,  induce  him,  rather  than  take 
this  alternative,  to  silence  your  importunities,  by  acceding 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN.  231 

to  claims,  however  illegal  and  unjust.  If,  therefore,  you 
now  favor  Sir  Reginald  with  your  visit,  for  the  purpose 
of  making  a demand  previous  to  his  quitting  England, 
and  which,  consequently,  will  be  the  last  to  which  he  will 
concede,  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  name  the  amount 
of  your  claim,  and  should  it  be  reasonable,  I think  Sir 
Reginald  will  authorize  me  to  say  that  it  shall  be  granted.  ” 

^^Well,  now!”  cried  Thornton,  that’s  what  I call 
talking  like  a sensible  man  : and  though  I am  not  fond  of 
speaking  to  a third  person,  when  the  principal  is  present, 
yet  as  you  have  always  been  very  civil  to  me,  I have 
no  objection  to  treating  with  you.  Please  to  give  Sir 
Reginald  this  paper  : if  he  will  but  take  the  trouble  to 
sign  it,  he  may  go  to  the  Falls  of  Niagara  for  me  ! I won’t 
interrupt  him  — so  he  had  better  put  pen  to  paper,  and 
get  rid  of  me  at  once,  for  I know  I am  as  welcome  as 
snow  in  harvest.” 

I took  the  paper,  which  was  folded  up,  and  gave  it  to 
Glanville,  who  leant  back  on  his  chair,  half  exhausted  by 
rage.  He  glanced  his  eye  over  it,  and  then  tore  it  into 
a thousand  pieces,  and  trampled  it  beneath  his  feet : 

Go  ! ” exclaimed  he,  go,  rascal,  and  do  your  worst  I 
I will  not  make  myself  a beggar  to  enrich  you.  My 
whole  fortune  would  but  answer  this  demand.” 

‘‘Do  as  you  please.  Sir  Reginald,”  answered  Thornton, 
grinning,  “do  as  you  please.  It’s  not  a long  walk  from 
hence  to  Row-street,  nor  a long  swing  from  Newgate  to 
the  gallows ; do  as  you  please.  Sir  Reginald,  do  as  you 
nlease  I ” and  the  villain  flung  himself  at  full  length  on 

2n 


232 


P E L HA  M ; OK, 


the  ottoman,  and  eyed  Glanville’s  countenance  with  an 
easy  and  malicious  effrontery,  which  seemed  to  say,  “ I 
know  you  will  struggle,  but  you  cannot  help  yourself.” 

I took  Glaiiville  aside:  “My  dear  friend,”  said  I, 
“ believe  me,  that  I share  your  indignation  to  the  utmost ; 
but  we  must  do  anything  rather  than  incense  this  wretch  ; 
what  is  his  demand  ? ” 

“I  speak  literally,”  replied  Glanville,  “when  I say, 
that  it  covers  nearly  the  whole  of  my  fortune,  except 
such  lands  as  are  entailed  upon  the  male  heir ; for  my 
habits  of  extravagance  have  very  much  curtailed  mj 
means  : it  is  the  exact  sum  I had  set  apart,  for  a marriage 
gift  to  my  sister,  in  addition  to  her  own  fortune.” 

“ Then,”  said  I,  “ you  shall  give  it  him ; your  sister 
has  no  longer  any  necessity  for  a portion  : her  marriage 
with  me  prevents  that  — and  with  regard  to  yourself,  your 
w'ants  are  not  many  — such  as  it  is,  you  can  share  my 
fortune.” 

“ Xo  — no  — no!”  cried  Glanville;  and  his  generous 
nature  lashing  him  into  fresh  rage,  he  broke  from  my 
grasp,  and  moved  menacingly  to  Thornton.  That  person 
still  lay  on  the  ottoman,  regarding  us  with  an  air  half 
contemptuous,  half  exulting. 

“Leave  the  room  instantly,”  said  Glanville,  “or  you 
will  repent  it ! ” 

“What ! another  murder,  Sir  Reginald  I ” said  Thorn- 
ton. “ No,  I am  not  a sparrow,  to  have  my  neck  wTenched 
by  a woman’s  hand  like  yours.  Give  me  my  demand  — 
sign  the  paper,  and  I will  leave  you  for  ever  and  a dav. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


233 


I will  commit  no  such  folly,’’  answered  Glanvilie. 

If  you  will  accept  five  thousand  pounds,  you  shall  have 
that  sum  ; but  were  the  rope  on  my  neck,  you  should  not 
wring  from  me  a farthing  more  I ” 

“ Five  thousand  ! ” repeated  Thornton  ; ‘‘  a mere  drop 

— a child’s  toy — why,  you  are  playing  with  me.  Sir 
Reginald  — nay,  I am  a reasonable  man,  and  will  abate 
a trifle  or  so  of  my  just  claims,  but  you  must  not  take 
advantage  of  my  good  nature.  Make  me  snug  and  easy 
for  life — let  me  keep  a brace  of  hunters  — a cosy  box 

— a bit  of  land  to  it,  and  a girl  after  rny  own  heart,  and 
1 11  say  quits  with  you.  Now,  Mr.  Pelham,  who  is  a long- 
headed gentleman,  and  does  not  spit  on  his  own  blanket, 
knows  well  enough  that  one  can’t  do  all  this  for  five 
thousand  pounds;  make  it  a thousand  a year  — that  is, 
give  me  a cool  twenty  thousand  — and  I won’t  exact 
another  sou.  Egad,  this  drinking  makes  one  deuced  thirsty 

— Mr.  Pelham,  just  reach  me  that  glass  of  water  — I hear 
bees  in  my  headr"^ 

Seeing  that  I did  not  stir,  Thornton  rose,  with  an  oath 
against  pride  ; and  swaggering  towards  the  table,  tools 
up  a tumbler  of  water,  which  happened  accidentally  to 
be  there  : close  by  it  was  the  picture  of  the  ill-fated 
Gertrude.  The  gambler,  who  was  evidently  so  intoxicated 
as  to  be  scarcely  conscious  of  his  motions  or  words, 
(otherwise,  in  all  probability,  he  would,  to  borrow  from 
himself  a proverb  illustrative  of  his  profession,  have  played 
his  cards  better,)  took  up  the  portrait. 

Glanvilie  saw  the  action,  and  was  b/  his  side  in  an 
20 


234 


PELHAM;  OR, 


instant.  Touch  it  not  with  your  accursed  hands  ! ” he 
cried,  in  an  ungovernable  fury.  “ Leave  your  hold  this 
instant,  or  I will  dash  you  to  pieces.’^ 

Thornton  kept  a firm  gripe  of  the  picture.  Here^s  a 
to-do  I ” said  he,  tauntingly  ; “ was  there  ever  such  work 

about  a poor (using  a word  too  coarse  for  repetition) 

before  ? ’’ 

The  word  had  scarcely  passed  his  lips,  when  he  was 
stretched  at  his  full  length  upon  the  floor.  Nor  did 
Glanville  stop  there.  With  all  the  strength  of  his  nervous 
frame,  fully  requited  for  the  debility  of  disease  by  the  fury 
of  the  moment,  he  seized  the  gamester  as  if  he  had  been 
an  infant,  and  dragged  him  to  the  door  : the  next  moment, 
I heard  his  heavy  frame  rolling  down  the  stairs  with  no 
decorous  slowness  of  descent. 

Glanville  re-appeared.  “ Good  Heavens  ! ” I cried, 
what  have  you  done  ? ’’  But  he  was  too  lost  in  his  still 
unappeased  rage  to  heed  me.  He  leaned,  panting  and 
breathless,  against  the  wall,  with  clenched  teeth,  and  a 
flashing  eye,  rendered  more  terribly  bright  by  the  feverish 
lustre  natural  to  his  disease. 

Presently  I heard  Thornton  re-ascend  the  stairs ; he 
opened  the  door,  and  entered  but  one  pace.  Never  did 
human  face  wear  a more  fiendish  expression  of  malevo- 
lence and  wrath.  ‘‘Sir  Reginald  Glanville,”  he  said,  “1 
thank  you  heartily.  He  must  have  iron  nails  who  scratches 
a bear.  Yon  have  sent  me  a challenge,  and  the  hang- 
man shall  bring  you  my  answer.  Good  day.  Sir  Reginald 
■ — good  day,  Mr.  Pelham  ; ” and  so  saying,  he  shut  ‘he 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


235 


door,  and,  rapidly  descending  the  stairs,  was  out  of  the 
house  in  an  instant. 

“There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,’’  said  I;  “order  post 
horses  to  your  carriage,  and  be  gone  instantly.” 

“You  are  wrong,”  replied  Glanville,  slowly  recovering 
himself.  “ I must  not  fly  ; it  would  be  worse  than  useless  ; 
it  would  seem  the  strongest  argument  against  me.  Re- 
member that  if  Thornton  has  really  gone  to  inform  against 
me,  the  officers  of  justice  would  arrest  me  long  before  I 
reached  Calais ; or  even  if  I did  elude  their  pursuit  so  far, 
I should  be  as  much  in  their  power  in  France  as  in  Eng- 
land : but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I do  not  think  Thornton 
will  inform.  Money,  to  a temper  like  his,  is  a stronger 
temptation  than  revenge  ; and  before  he  has  been  three 
minutes  in  the  air,  he  will  perceive  the  folly  of  losing  the 
golden  harvest  he  may  yet  make  of  me,  for  the  sake  of  a 
momentary  passion.  No  : my  best  plan  will  be  to  wait 
here  till  to-morrow,  as  I originally  intended.  In  the  mean- 
while he  will,  in  all  probability,  pay  me  another  visit,  and 
I will  make  a compromise  with  his  demands,” 

Despite  my  fears,  I could  not  but  see  the  justice  of  these 
observations,  the  more  especially  as  a still  stronger  argu- 
ment than  any  urged  by  Glanville,  forced  itself  on  my 
mind ; this  was  my  internal  conviction,  that  Thornton 
himself  was  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Tyrrell,  and  that, 
'herefore,  he  would,  for  his  own  sake,  avoid  the  new  and 
particularizing  scrutiny  into  that  dreadful  event,  which 
his  accusation  of  Glanville  would  necessarily  occasion. 

Both  of  us  were  wrong.  Villains  have  passions  as 


236 


P E li  H A M ; OR, 


well  as  honest  men  ; and  they  will,  therefore,  forfeit  theii 
own  interest  in  obedience  to  those  passions,  while  the 
calculations  of  prudence  invariably  suppose  that  interest 
is  their  only  rule. 

Glanville  was  so  enfeebled  by  his  late  excitement,  that 
he  besought  me  once  more  to  leave  him  to  himself.  I 
did  so,  under  a promise  that  he  would  admit  me  again  in 
the  evening;  for  notwithstanding  my  persuasion  that 
Thornton  w^ould  not  put  his  threats  into  execution,  I 
could  not  conquer  a latent  foreboding  of  dread  and  evil. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

Away  with  him  to  prison  — where  is  the  provost? 

Measure  for  Measure. 

I RETURNED  home,  perplexed  by  a thousand  contra- 
dictory thoughts  upon  the  scene  I had  just  witnessed  ; the 
more  I reflected,  the  more  I regretted  the  fatality  of  the 
circumstances  that  had  tempted  Glanville  to  accede  to 
Thornton’s  demand.  True  it  was,  that  Thornton’s  self- 
regard  might  be  deemed  a sufficient  guarantee  for  his 
concealment  of  such  extortionate  transactions  : moreover, 
it  was  difficult  to  say,  when  the  formidable  array  of 
appearances  against  Glanville  was  considered,  whether 
any  other  line  of  conduct  than  that  which  he  had  adopted, 
could,  with  safety,  have  been  pursued. 

His  feelings,  too,  with  regard  to  the  unfortunate  Ger- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


237 


trade,  I could  fully  enter  into,  and  sympathize  with  ; out, 
in  spite  of  all  these  considerations,  it  was  with  an  inex- 
pressible aversion  that  I contemplated  the  idea  of  that 
tacit  confession  of  guilt,  which  his  compliance  with  Thorn- 
ton’s exactions  so  unhappily  implied  ; it  was,  therefore,  a 
thought  of  some  satisfaction,  that  my  rash  and  hasty 
advice,  of  a still  further  concession  to  those  exactions,  had 
not  been  acceded  to.  My  present  intention,  in  the  event 
of  Glanville’s  persevering  to  reject  my  offer  of  accom- 
panying him,  was  to  remain  in  England,  for  the  purpose  of 
sifting  the  murder;  nor  did  I despair  of  accomplishing 
this  most  desirable  end,  through  the  means  of  Dawson  ; 
for  there  was  but  little  doubt  in  my  own  mind,  that 
Thornton  and  himself  were  the  murderers,  and  I hoped 
that  address  or  intimidation  might  win  a confession  from 
Dawson,  although  it  might  probably  be  unavailing  with 
his  hardened  and  crafty  associate. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  I endeavored  to  while 
away  the  hours  till  the  evening  summoned  me  once  more 
to  the  principal  object  of  my  reflections.  The  instant 
Glanville’s  door  was  opened,  I saw,  by  one  glance,  that 
I had  come  too  late  ; the  whole  house  was  in  confusion  ; 
several  of  the  servants  were  in  the  hall,  conferring  with 
each  other,  with  that  mingled  mystery  and  agitation  which 
always  accompany  the  fears  and  conjectures  of  the  lower 
classes.  I took  aside  the  valet,  who  had  lived  with  Glan- 
ville  f()r  some  years,  and  who  was  remarkably  attached  to 
Ills  master,  and  learned,  that,  somewhat  more  than  an 
\ow  before,  Mr.  Thornton  had  returned  to  the  house, 


238 


PELHAM;  OR, 


accompanied  by  three  men  of  very  suspicious  appearance. 

In  short,  sir,’^  said  the  man,  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  “ I knew  one  of  them  by  sight;  he  was  Mr.  S., 
the  Bow-street  officer ; with  these  men.  Sir  Reginald  left 
the  house,  merely  saying,  in  his  usual  quiet  manner,  that 
he  did  not  know  when  he  should  return.” 

I concealed  my  perturbation,  and  endeavored,  as  far  as 
I was  able,  to  quiet  the  evident  apprehensions  of  the 
servant.  ^^At  all  events,  Seymour,”  said  I,  “ I know  that 
I may  trust  you  sufficiently  to  warn  you  against  mention- 
ing the  circumstance  any  farther  ; above  all,  let  me  beg 
of  you  to  stop  the  mouths  of  those  idle  loiterers  in  the 
hall  — and  be  sure  that  you  do  not  give  any  unnecessary 
alarm  to  Lady  and  Miss  Glanville.” 

The  poor  man  promised,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he 
would  obey  my  injunctions  ; and,  with  a calm  face,  but  a 
sickening  heart,  I turned  away  from  the  house.  I knew 
not  whither  to  direct  my  wanderings  ; fortunately  I re- 
collected that  I should,  in  all  probability,  be  among  the 
first  witnesses  summoned  on  Glanville’s  examination,  and 
that  perhaps,  by  the  time  I reached  home,  I might  already 
receive  an  intimation  to  that  effect ; accordingly,  I retraced 
my  steps,  and,  on  re-entering  my  hotel,  was  told  by  the 
waiter,  with  a mysterious  air,  that  a gentleman  was  waiting 
to  see  me.  Seated  by  the  window  in  my  room,  and  wiping 
his  forehead  with  a red  silk  pocket-handkerchief,  wms  a 
short  thickset  man,  with  a fiery  and  rugose  complexion, 
not  altogether  unlike  the  aspect  of  a mulberry  : from 
underneath  a pair  of  shaggy  brows  peeped  two  singularly 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  JZ9 

small  eyes,  which  made  ample  amends,  by  their  fire,  for 
their  deficiency  in  size  — they  were  black,  brisk,  and 
somewhat  fierce  in  their  expression.  A nose  of  that  shape 
vulgarly  termed  bottled,  formed  the  “ arch  sublime,’’  the 
bridge,  the  twilight,  as  it  were,  between  the  purple  sun -set 
of  one  cheek,  and  the  glowing  sun-rise  of  the  other.  His 
mouth  was  small,  and  drawn  up  at  each  corner,  like  a 
purse  — there  was  something  sour  and  crabbed  about  it; 
if  it  was  like  a purse,  it  was  the  purse  of  a miser : a fair 
round  chin  had  not  been  condemned  to  single  blessedness 
— on  the  contrary,  it  was  like  a farmer’s  pillion,  and 
carried  double  ; on  either  side  of  a very  low  forehead, 
hedged  round  by  closely  mowed  bristles  of  a dingy  black, 
was  an  enormous  ear  of  the  same  intensely  rubicund  color 
as  that  inflamed  pendant  of  flesh  which  adorns  the  throat 
of  an  enraged  turkey-cock  ; — ears  so  large,  and  so  red, 
1 never  beheld  before  — they  were  something  preposte- 
rous ! 

This  enchanting  figure,  which  was  attired  in  a sober 
suit  of  leaden  black,  relieved  by  a long  gold  watch-chain, 
and  a plentiful  decoration  of  seals,  rose  at  my  entrance  with 
a solemn  grunt,  and  a still  more  solemn  bow.  I shut  the 
door  carefully,  and  asked  him  his  business.  As  I had 

foreseen,  it  was  a request  from  the  magistrate  at , to 

attend  a private  examination  on  the  ensuing  day. 

“Sad  thing,  sir,  sad  thing,” said  Mr. ; “it  would 

be  quite  shocking  to  hang  a gentleman  of  Sir  Reginald 
Glanville’s  quality  — so  distinguished  an  orator,  too  ; sad 
thing,  sir, — verv  sad  thing.” 


240 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Oh  ! said  I,  quietly,  there  is  not  a doubt  as  to  Sir 
Reginald’s  innocence  of  the  crime  laid  to  him  ; and, 
probably,  Mr. , I may  call  in  your  assistance  to- 

morrow, to  ascertain  the  real  murderers  — I think  1 am 
possessed  of  some  clue.” 

Mr. pricked  up  his  ears  — those  enormous  ears’ 

''  Sir,”  he  said,  I shall  be  happy  to  accompany  you  — 
very  happy  ; give  me  the  clue  you  speak  of,  and  I will 
soon  find  the  villains.  Horrid  thing,  sir,  murder  — very 
horrid.  It^s  too  hard  that  a gentleman  cannot  take  his 
ride  home  from  a race,  or  a merry-making,  but  he  must 
have  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear  — ear  to  ear,  sir;  ” 
and  with  these  words,  the  speaker’s  own  auricular  pro- 
tuberances seemed,  as  in  conscious  horror,  to  glow  with  a 
double  carnation. 

“ Very  true,  Mr. ! ” said  I ; “ say  I will  certainly 

attend  the  examination — till  then,  good  by  1 ” At  this 
hint,  my  fiery-faced  friend  made  a low  bow,  and  blazed 
out  of  the  room,  like  the  ghost  of  a kitchen  fire. 

Left  to  myself,  I revolved,  earnestly  and  anxiously, 
every  circumstance  that  could  tend  to  diminish  the  ap- 
pearances against  Glanville,  and  direct  suspicion  to  that 
quarter  where  I was  confident  the  guilt  rested.  In  this 
endeavor  I passed  the  time  till  morning,  when  I fell  into 
an  uneasy  slumber,  which  lasted  some  hours  ; on  waking, 
it  was  almost  time  to  attend  the  magistrate’s  appointment. 
I dressed  hastily,  and  soon  found  myself  in  the  room  of 
inquisition. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a more  courteous,  and  yet 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


241 


more  equitable  man,  than  the  magistrate  whom  I had  the 
honor  of  attending.  He  spoke  with  great  feeling  on  the 
subject  for  which  I was  summoned  — owned  to  me,  that 
Thornton’s  statement  was  very  clear  and  forcible  — trusted 
that  my  evidence  would  contradict  an  account  which  he 
was  very  loath  to  believe  ; and  then  proceeded  to  the 
question.  I saw,  with  an  agony  which  I can  scarcely 
express,  that  all  my  answers  made  powerfully  against  the 
cause  I endeavored  to  support.  I was  obliged  to  own 
that  a man  on  horseback  passed  me  soon  after  Tyrrell 
had  quitted  me  ; that,  on  coming  to  the  spot  where  the 
deceased  was  found,  I saw  this  same  horseman  on  the 
very  place  : that  I believed,  nay,  that  I was  sure,  (how 
ould  I evade  this  ?)  that  this  man  was  Reginald  Glanville. 

Farther  evidence,  Thornton  had  already  offered  to 
adduce.  He  could  prove,  that  the  said  horseman  had 
been  mounted  on  a grey  horse,  sold  to  a person  answering 
exactly  to  the  description  of  Sir  Reginald  Glanville ; 
moreover,  that  that  horse  was  yet  in  the  stables  of  the 
prisoner.  He  produced  a letter,  which,  he  said,  he  had 
found  upon  the  person  of  the  deceased,  signed  by  Sir 
Reginald  Glanville,  and  containing  the  most  deadly  threats 
against  Sir  John  Tyrrell’s  life;  and,  to  crown  all,  he 
called  upon  me  to  witness,  that  we  had  both  discovered 
upon  the  spot  where  the  murder  was  committed,  a picture 
belonging  to  the  prisoner,  since  restored  to  him,  and  now 
m his  possession. 

At  the  close  of  this  examination,  the  worthy  magistratyo 
shook  his  head,  in  evident  distress  1 I have  known  Sir 

fl.— 21 


242 


PELHAM;  OR 


Reginald  Glanville  personally,”  said  he  ; “in  private  as 
in  public  life,  I have  always  thought  him  the  most  upright 
and  honorable  of  men.  I feel  the  greatest  pain  in  saying, 
tlia*  it  will  be  my  duty  fully  to  commit  him  for  trial.” 

1 interrupted  the  magistrate  ; I demanded  that  Dawson 
should  be  produced.  “ I have  already,”  said  he,  “ inquired 
of  Thornton  respecting  that  person,  whose  testimony  is 
of  evident  importance  ; he  tells  me  that  Dawson  has  left 
the  country,  and  can  give  me  no  clue  of  his  address.” 

“ He  lies  ! ” cried  I,  in  the  abrupt  anguish  of  my  heart ; 
'Vhis  associate  shall  be  produced.  Hear  me,  I have  been, 
next  to  Thornton,  the  chief  witness  against  the  prisoner, 
and  when  I swear  to  you,  that,  in  spite  of  all  appearances, 
I most  solemnly  believe  in  his  innocence,  you  may  rely  on 
my  assurance,  that  there  are  circumstances  in  his  favor 
which  have  not  yet  been  considered,  but  which  I will 
pledge  myself  hereafter  to  adduce.”  I then  related  to 
the  private  ear  of  the  magistrate  my  firm  conviction  of 
the  guilt  of  the  accuser  himself.  I dwelt  forcibly  upon 
he  circumstance  of  Tyrrell’s  having  mentioned  to  me 
lat  Thornton  was  aware  of  the  large  sum  he  had  on  his 
person,  and  of  the  strange  disappearance  of  that  sum, 
when  his  body  was  examined  in  the  fatal  field.  After 
noting  how  impossible  it  was  that  Glanville  could  have 
stolen  the  money,  I insisted  strongly  on  the  distressed 
circumstances  — the  dissolute  habits,  and  the  hardened 
character,  of  Thornton  — I recalled  to  the  mind  of  the 
magistrate  the  singularity  of  Thornton’s  absence  from 
ijome  when  I called  there,  and  the  doubtful  nature  of  bis 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


243 


excuse  : much  more  T said,  but  all  equally  in  vain.  The 
only  point  where  I was  successful,  was  in  pressing  for  a 
delay,  which  was  granted  to  the  passionate  manner  in 
which  I expressed  my  persuasion  that  I could  confirm  my 
suspicions  by  much  stronger  data  before  the  reprieve 
expired. 

It  is  very  true,”  said  the  righteous  magistrate,  that 
there  are  appearances  somewhat  against  the  witness  ; but 
certainly  not  tantamount  to  anything  above  a slight  sus- 
picion. If,  however,  you  positively  think  you  can  ascer- 
tain any  facts,  to  elucidate  this  mysterious  crime,  and 
point  the  inquiries  of  justice  to  another  quarter,  I will 
so  far  strain  the  question,  as  to  remand  the  prisoner  to 
another  day  — let  us  say  the  day  after  to-morrow.  If 
nothing  important  can  before  then  be  found  in  his  favor, 
he  must  be  committed  forttrial.” 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

Nihil  est  furacius  illo: 

Non  fuit  Autolyci  tarn  piceata  marms.  — Martial. 

Quo  tencam  vultus  mutantem  Protea  nodo  ? — Horat. 

When  I left  the  magistrate,  I knew  not  whither  my 
next  step  should  tend.  There  was,  however,  no  time  to 
indulge  the  idle  stupor  which  Glanville’s  situation  at  first 
occasioned  ; with  a violent  effort,  I shook  it  off,  and  bent 


244 


peleam;  or 


all  my  mind  to  discover  the  best  method  to  avail  myself, 
to  the  utmost,  of  the  short  reprieve  I had  succeeded  in 
obtaining.  At  length,  one  of  those  sudden  thoughts 
which,  from  their  suddenness,  appear  more  brilliant  than 
they  really  are,  flashed  upon  my  mind.  I remembered  the 
accomplished  character  of  Mr.  Job  Jonson,  and  the  cir- 
cumstance of  my  having  seen  him  in  company  with  Thorn- 
ton. Now,  although  it  was  not  very  likely  that  Thornton 
should  have  made  Mr.  Jonson  his  confidant,  in  any  of 
those  affairs  which  it  was  so  essentially  his  advantage  to 
confine  exclusively  to  himself;  yet  the  acuten^s  and 
penetration  visible  in  the  character  of  the  worthy  Job, 
might  not  have  lain  so  fallow  during  his  companionship 
with  Thornton,  but  that  it  might  have  made  some  dis- 
♦ coveries  which  would  considerably  assist  me  in  my  re- 
searches ; besides,  as  it  is  lite^lly  true  in  the  systematized 
roguery  of  London,  that  “birds  of  a feather  flock  toge- 
ther,’’ it  was  by  no  means  unlikely  that  the  honest  Job 
might  be  honored  with  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Dawson,  as 
well  as  the  company  of  Mr.  Thornton  ; in  which  case  I 
looked  forward  with  greater  confidence  to  the  detection 
of  the  notable  pair. 

I could  not,  however,  conceal  from  myself,  that  this  was 
but  a very  unstable  and  ill-linked  chain  of  reasoning  ; anr 
there  were  moments,  when  the  appearances  against  Gian 
ville  wore  so  close  a semblance  of  truth,  that  all  my  friend- 
ship could  scarcely  drive  from  my  mind  an  intrusive  sus- 
picion that  he  might  have  deceived  me,  and  that  the 
accusation  might  not  be  groundless. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  24S 


This  unwelcome  idea  did  not,  however,  at  all  lessen  the 
rapidity  with  which  I hastened  towards  the  memorable 
gin-shop,  where  I had  whilom  met  Mr.  Gordon  : there  I 
hoped  to  find  either  the  address  of  that  gentleman,  or  of 
the  Club,”  to  which  he  had  taken  me,  in  company  with 
Tringle  and  Dartmore  : either  at  this  said  club,  or  of  that 
said  gentleman,  I thought  it  not  unlikely  that  I might 
hear  some  tidings  of  the  person  of  Mr.  Job  Jonson  — if 
not,  I was  resolved  to  return  to  the  office,  and  employ 

Mr.  , my  mulberry-cheeked  acquaintance  of  the  last 

night,  in  search  after  the  holy  Job. 

Fate  saved  me  a world  of  trouble  : as  I was  hastily 
walking  onwards,  I happened  to  turn  m^  eyes  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way,  and  discovered  a man  dressed 
in  what  the  newspapers  term  the  very  height  of  fashion, 
viz.  : in  the  most  ostentatious  attire  that  ever  flaunted  at 
Margate,  or  blazed  in  the  Palais  Royal.  The  nether 
garments  of  this  petit-maitre  consisted  of  a pair  of  blue 
tight  pantaloons,  profusely  braided,  and  terminating  in 
Hessian  boots,  adorned  with  brass  spurs  of  the  most  bur- 
nished resplendency  ; a black  velvet  waistcoat  studded 
with  gold  stars,  was  hacked  by  a green  frock  coat,  covered, 
notwithstanding  the  heat  of  the  weather,  with  fur,  and 
frogged  and  cordonne  with  the  most  lordly  indifference, 
both  as  to  taste  and  expense  : a small  French  hat,  which 

might  not  have  been  much  too  large  for  my  lord  of , 

was  set  jauntily  in  the  centre  of  a system  of  long  black 
curls,  which  my  eye,  long  accustomed  to  penetrate  the 

arcana  of  habilatory  art,  discovered  at  once  to  be  a wig, 
21  * 


246 


PELHAM;  OR 


A fierce  black  mnstacbio,  very  much  curled,  wandered 
lovinprly  from  the  upper  lip  towards  the  eyes,  which  had 
an  unfortunate  prepossession  for  eccentricity  in  their 
direction.  To  complete  the  picture,  we  must  suppose 
some  coloring  — and  this  consisted  in  a very  nice  and 
delicate  touch  of  the  rouge  pot,  which  could  not  be  called 
by  so  harsh  a term  as  paint ; — say  rather  that  it  was  a 
tinge  / 

No  sooner  had  I set  my  eyes  upon  this  figure,  than  I 
crossed  over  to  the  side  of  the  way  which  it  was  adorn- 
ing, and  followed  its  motions  at  a respectful  but  observant 
distance. 

At  length  mj  freluquet  marched  into  a jeweller’s  shop 
in  Oxford  street ; with  a careless  air,  I ajBFected,  two 
minutes  afterwards,  to  saunter  into  the  same  shop  ; the 
shopman  was  showing  his  bijouterie  to  him  of  the  Hessians 
with  the  greatest  respect ; and,  beguiled  by  the  splendor 
of  the  wig  and  waistcoat,  turned  me  over  to  his  appren- 
tice. Another  time,  I might  have  been  indignant  at  per- 
ceiving that  the  air  noble,  on  which  I so  much  piqued 
myself,  was  by  no  means  so  universally  acknowledged  as 
I had  vainly  imagined  : — at  that  moment  I was  too  occu- 
pied to  think  of  my  insulted  dignity.  While  I was  pre- 
tending to  appear  wholly  engrossed  with  some  seals,  I 
kept  a vigilant  eye  on  my  superb  fellow-customer  ; at  last, 
I saw  him  secrete  a diamond  ring,  and  thrust  it,  by  a sin- 
gular movement  of  the  fore-finger,  up  the  fur  cuff  of  his 
capacious  sleeve ; presently,  some  other  article  of  minute 
size  disappeared  in  the  like  manner 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  247 

The  gentleman  then  rose,  expressed  himself  very  well 
satisfied  by  the  great  taste  of  the  jeweller,  said  he  should 
look  in  again  on  Saturday,  when  he  hoped  the  set  he  had 
ordered  would  be  completed,  and  gravely  took  his  de- 
parture amidst  the  prodigal  bows  of  the  shopman  and  his 
helpmates.  Meanwhile,  I bought  a seal  of  small  value, 
and  followed  my  old  acquaintance,  for  the  reader  has 
doubtless  discovered,  long  before  this,  that  gentleman 
was  no  other  than  Mr.  Job  Jonson. 

Slowly  and  struttingly  did  the  man  of  two  virtues  per- 
form the  whole  pilgrimage  of  Oxford  street.  He  stopped 
at  Cumberland-gate,  and,  looking  round,  with  an  air  of 
gentlemanlike  indecision,  seemed  to  .consider  whether  or 
not  he  should  join  the  loungers  in  the  park  : fortunately 
for  the  we!l-bred  set,  his  doubts  terminated  in  their  favor, 
and  Mr.  Job  Jonson  entered  the  park.  Every  one  hap- 
pened to  be  thronging  to  Kensington  Gardens,  and  the 
man  of  two  virtues  accordingly  cut  across  the  park  as  the 
shortest,  but  the  least  frequented  way  thither,  in  order  to 
confer  upon  the  seekers  of  pleasure  the  dangerous  honor 
of  his  company. 

As  soon  as  I perceived  that  there  were  but  few  persons 
in  the  immediate  locality  to  observe  me,  and  that  those 
consisted  of  a tall  guardsman  and  his  wife,  a family  of 
young  children  with  their  nursery-maid,  and  a debilitated 
East  India  Captain,  walking  for  the  sake  of  his  liver,  I 
overtook  the  incomparable  Job,  made  him  a low  bow, 
and  thus  reverently  accosted  him  — 

“Mr.  Jonson,  I am  delighted  once  more  to  meet  you — ' 
"2.0 


248 


PELHAM;  OR, 


suffer  me  to  remind  you  of  the  very  pleasant  morning  I 
passed  with  you  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hampton  Court. 
I perceive,  by  your  mustachios  and  military  dress,  that 
you  have  entered  the  army,  since  that  day  ; I congratulate 
the  British  troops  on  so  admirable  an  acquisition.” 

Mr.  Jonson’s  assurance  forsook  him  for  a moment,  but 
he  lost  no  time  in  regaining  a quality  which  w^as  so  natural 
to  his  character.  He  assumed  a fierce  look,  and,  relevant 
sa moustache,  sourit amerement,  like  Voltaire’s  governor.* 
— “ D — me,  sir,”  he  cried,  “ do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? 
I know  none  of  your  Mr.  Jonsons,  and  I never  set  my 
eyes  upon  you  before.” 

“ Lookye,  my  dear  Mr.  Job  Jonson,”  replied  I,  as  I 
can  prove  not  only  all  I say,  but  much  more  that  I shall 
not  say  — such  as  your  little  mistakes  just  now,  at  the 
jeweller’s  shop  in  Oxford  street,  &c.  &c.,  perhaps  it  would 
be  better  for  you  not  to  oblige  me  to  create  a mob,  and 
give  you  in  charge  — pardon  my  abruptness  of  speech — . 
to  a constable! — Surely  there  will  be  no  need  of  such  a 
disagreeable  occurrence,  when  I assure  you,  in  the  first 
place,  that  I perfectly  forgive  you  for  ridding  me  of  the 
unnecessary  comforts  of  a pocket-book  and  handkerchief, 
the  unphilosophical  appendage  of  a purse,  and  the  effemi- 
nate love-token  of  a gold  locket;  nor  is  this  all  — it  is 
perfectly  indifferent  to  me,  whether  you  levy  contributions 
on  jewellers  or  gentlemen,  and  I am  very  far  from  wishing 
to  intrude  upon  your  harmless  occupations,  or  to  interfere 


* Don  FeiTiand  d’lbarra,  in  the  “ CandideJ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


249 


with  your  innocent  amusements.  I see,  Mr.  Jonson,  that 
you  are  beginning  to  understand  me  ; let  me  facilitate  so 
desirable  an  end  by  an  additional  information,  that,  since 
it  is  preceded  with  a promise  to  open  my  purse,  may  tend 
somewhat  to  open  your  heart ; I am  at  this  moment  in 
great  want  of  your  assistance  — favor  me  with  it,  and  I 
will  pay  you  to  your  souPs  content.  Are  w^e  friends  n^^w, 
Mr.  Job  Jonson  ? 

My  old  friend  burst  out  into  a loud  laugh.  “ Well,  sir, 
I must  say  that  your  frankness  enchants  me.  1 can  no 
longer  dissemble  with  you  ; indeed,  I perceive  it  would  be 
useless  ; besides,  I always  adored  candor — it  is  my  favorite 
virtue.  Tell  me  how  I can  help  you,  and  you  may  com- 
mand my  services.” 

‘‘  One  word,”  said  I : will  you  be  open  and  ingenuous 
with  me  ? I shall  ask  you  certain  questions,  not  in  the 
least  affecting  your  own  safety,  but  to  which,  if  you  would 
serve  me,  you  must  give  me  (and,  since  candor  is  your 
favorite  virtue,  this  will  be  no  difficult  task)  your  most 
candid  replies.  To  strengthen  you  in  so  righteous  a course, 
know  also  that  the  said  replies  will  come  verbatim  before 
a court  of  law,  and  that,  therefore,  it  will  be  a matter  of 
prudence  to  shape  them  as  closely  to  the  truth  as  your 
inclinations  will  allow.  To  counterbalance  this  informa- 
tion, which,  I own,  is  not  very  inviting,  I repeat  that  the 
questions  asked  you  wdll  be  wholly  foreign  to  your  own 
affairs,  and  that,  should  you  prove  of  that  assistance  to 
me  which  I anticipate,  I will  so  testify  my  gratitude  as 
to  place  you  beyond  the  necessity  of  pillaging  rural  young 


250 


PELHAM;  OR 


gentlemen  and  credulous  shopkeepers  for  the  future  ; — . 
all  your  present  pursuits  need  thenceforth  only  be  carried 
on  for  your  private  amusement.’^ 

“ I repeat,  that  you  may  command  me,’’  returned  Mr 
Jonson,  gracefully  putting  his  hand  to  his  heart. 

“ Pray  then,”  said  I,  “ to  come  at  once  to  the  point, 
how  long  have  you  been  acquainted  with  Mr.  Thomas 
Thornton  ? ” 

“For  some  months  only,”  returned  Job,  without  the 
least  embarrassment. 

“And  Mr.  Dawson  ?”  said  I. 

A slight  change  came  over  Jonson’s  countenance ; he 
hesitated.  “Excuse  me,  sir,”  said  he;  “but  I am,  really, 
perfectly  unacquainted  with  you,  and  I may  be  falling 
into  some  trap  of  the  law,  of  which,  Heaven  knows,  I 
am  as  ignorant  as  a babe  unborn.” 

I saw  the  knavish  justice  of  this  remark : and  in  my 
predominating  zeal  to  serve  Glanville,  I looked  upon  the 
inconvenience  of  discovering  myself  to  a pickpocket  and 
sharper,  as  a consideration  not  worth  attending  to.  In 
order,  therefore,  to  remove  his  doubts,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  to  have  a more  secret  and  undisturbed  place  for  our 
conference,  I proposed  to  him  to  accompany  me  home. 
At  first,  Mr.  Jonson  demurred,  but  I soon  half*  persuaded 
and  half-intimidated  him  into  compliance. 

Not  particularly  liking  to  be  publicly  seen  with  a per- 
son of  his  splendid  description  and  celebrated  character, 
I made  him  walk  before  me  to  Mivart’s,  and  I followed 
him  closely,  never  turning  my  eye  either  to  the  right  or 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


251 


left,  lest  he  should  endeavor  to  escape  me.  There  was 
no  fear  of  this,  for  Mr.  Jonson  was  both  a bold  and  a 
crafty  man,  and  it  required,  perhaps,  but  little  of  his 
penetration  to  discover  that  I was  no  officer  nor  informer, 
and  that  my  communication  had  been  of  a nature  likely 
enough  to  terminate  in  his  advantage  ; there  was,  there- 
fore, but  little  need  of  his  courage  in  accompanying  me 
to  my  hotel. 

There  were  a good  many  foreigners  of  rank  at  Mivart’s, 
and  the  waiters  took  my  companion  for  an  ambassador  at 
least : — he  received  their  homage  with  the  mingled  dignity 
and  condescension  natural  to  so  great  a man. 

As  the  day  was  now  far  advanced,  I deemed  it  but  hos 
pitable  to  offer  Mr.  Job  Jonson  some  edible  refreshment. 
With  the  frankness  on  which  he  so  justly  valued  himself, 
he  accepted  my  proposal.  I ordered  some  cold  meat  and 
two  bottles  of  wine;  and,  mindful  of  old  maxims,  deferred 
my  business  till  hi.s  repast  was  over.  I conversed  with 
him  merely  upon  ordinary  topics,  and,  at  another  time, 
should  have  been  much  amused  by  the  singular  mixture 
of  impudence  and  shrewdness  which  formed  the  stratum 
of  his  character. 

At  length  his  appetite  was  satisfied,  and  one  of  the 
bottles  emptied ; with  the  other  before  him,  his  body 
easily  reclining  on  my  library  chair,  his  eyes  apparently 
cast  downwards,  but  ever  and  anon  glancing  up  at  my 
countenance  with  a searching  and  curious  look,  Mr.  Job 
Jonson  prepared  himself  for  our  conference;  accordingly 
I began  : — 


1252 


PELHAM;  Ok, 


*^You  sny  that  you  are  acquainted  with  Mr.  Dawson; 
where  is  he  at  present  ? ’’ 

I don’t  know,”  answered  Jonson,  laconically. 

“Come,”  said  I,  “no  trifling  — if  you  do  not  know, 
you  can  learn.” 

“ Possibly  I can,  in  the  course  of  time,”  rejoined  honest 
Job. 

“ If  you  cannot  tell  me  his  residence  at  once,”  said  I, 
“ our  conference  is  at  an  end ; that  is  a leading  feature  in 
my  inquiries.” 

Jonson  paused  before  he  replied  — “You  have  spoken 
to  me  frankly;  let  us  do  nothing  by  halves  — tell  me,  at 
once,  the  nature  of  the  service  I can  do  you,  and  the 
amount  of  my  reward,  and  then  you  shall  have  my  an- 
swer. With  respect  to  Dawson,  I will  confess  to  you 
that  I did  once  know  him  well,  and  that  we  have  done 
many  a mad  prank  together,  which  I should  not  like  the 
bugaboos  and  bulkies  to  know  ; you  will,  therefore,  see 
that  I am  naturally  reluctant  to  tell  you  anything  about 
him,  unless  your  honor  will  inform  me  of  the  why  and 
the  wherefore.” 

I was  somewhat  startled  by  this  speech,  and  by  the 
shrewd,  cunning  eye  which  dwelt  upon  me  as  it  was 
uttered  ; but,  however,  I was  by  no  means  sure  that  ac- 
ceding to  his  proposal  would  not  be  my  readiest  and 
wisest  way  to  the  object  I had  in  view.  Nevertheless, 
there  were  some  preliminary  question’s  to  be  got  over 
flrst : perhaps  Dawson  might  be  too  dear  a friend  to  the 
candid  Job,  for  the  latter  to  endanger  his  safety;  or  oer- 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN. 


253 


haps  (and  this  was  more  probable)  Jonson  might  be  per- 
fectly ignorant  of  anything  likely  to  aid  me  ; in  this  case 
my  communication  would  be  useless ; accordingly  I said, 
after  a short  consideration  — 

Patience,  my  dear  Mr.  Jonson  — patience  ; you  shall 
know  all  in  good  time;  meanwhile  I must  — even  for 
Dawson’s  sake  — question  you  blindfold.  What,  now,  if 
your  poor  friend  Dawson  were  in  imminent  danger,  and 
you  had,  if  it  so  pleased  you,  the  power  to  save  him ; 
would  you  not  do  all  you  could?” 

The  small,  coarse  features  of  Mr.  Job  grew  blank  with 
a curious  sort  of  disappointment:  “Is  that  all?”  said 
he.  “No  ! unless  I were  well  paid  for  my  pains  in  his 
behalf,  he  might  go  to  Botany  Bay,  for  all  I care.” 

“What !”  I cried,  in  a tone  of  reproach,  “is  this  your 
friendship  ? I thought,  just  now,  that  you  said  Dawson 
had  been  an  old  and  firm  associate  of  yours.” 

“An  old  one,  your  honor  but  not  a firm  one.  A short 
time  ago,  1 was  in  great  distress,  and  he  and  Thornton 
had,  deuce  knows  how ! about  two  thousand  between 
them  ; but  I could  not  worm  a stiver  out  of  Dawson  — 
that  gripe-all,  Thornton,  got  it  all  from  him.” 

“ Two  thousand  pounds  ! ” said  I,  in  a calm  voice, 
though  my  heart  beat  violently,  “that’s  a great  sum  for 
a poor  fellow  like  Dawson.  How  long  ago  is  it  since  he 
had  it?” 

“About  two  or  three  months,”  answered  Jonson. 

“Pray,”  I asked,  “have  you  seen  much  of  Dawson 
lately  ? ” 

II.  —22 


L54 


PELHAM;  OR, 


''I  have,’’ replied  Jonson. 

Indeed  ! ” said  I.  “ I thought  you  told  me,  just  now, 
that  you  were  unacquainted  with  his  residence  ?” 

So  I am,”  replied  Jonson,  coldly;  “it  is  not  at  his 
own  house  that  I ever  see  him.” 

I was  silent,  for  I was  now  rapidly  and  minutely  weigh- 
ing the  benefits  and  disadvantages  of  trusting  Jonson  as 
he  had  desired  ne  to  do. 

To  reduce  the  question  to  the  simplest  form  of  logic, 
he  had  either  the  power  of  assisting  my  investigation,  or 
he  had  not ; if  not,  neither  could  he  much  impede  it,  and, 
therefore,  it  mattered  little  whether  he  was  in  my  confi- 
dence or  not ; if  he  had  the  power,  the  doubt  was,  whether 
it  would  be  better  for  me  to  benefit  by  it  openly,  or  by 
stratagem;  that  is  — whether  it  were  wiser  to  state  the 
whole  case  to  him,  or  continue  to  gain  whatever  I was 
able  by  dint  of  a blind  examination.  Now,  the  disad- 
vantage of  candor  was,  that  if  it  were  his  wish  to  screen 
Dawson  and  his  friend,  he  would  be  prepared  to  do  so, 
and  even  to  put  them  on  their  guard  against  my  suspi- 
cions ; but  the  indifference  he  had  testified  with  regard 
to  Dawson  seemed  to  render  this  probability  very  small. 
The  benefits  of  candor  were  more  prominent:  Job  would 
then  be  fully  aware  that  his  own  safety  was  not  at  stake; 
and  should  I make  it  more  his  interest  to  serve  the  inno- 
cent than  the  guilty,  I should  have  the  entire  advantage, 
not  only  of  any  actual  information  he  might  possess,  but 
of  his  skill  and  shrewdness  in  providing  additional  proof, 
or  at  least  suggesting  advantageous  hints.  Moreover,  in 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


255 


spite  of  my  vanity  and  opinion  of  my  own  penetration,  T 
could  not  but  confess  that  it  was  unlikely  that  my  cross 
examination  would  be  very  successful,  with  so  old  and 
experienced  a sinner  as  Mr.  Jonson.  Set  a thief  to 
catch  a thief,’’  is  among  the  wisest  of  wise  sayings,  and 
accordingly  I resolved  in  favor  of  a disclosure. 

Drawing  my  chair  close  to  Jonson’s,  and  fixing  my 
eye  upon  his  countenance,  I briefly  proceeded  to  sketch 
Glanville’s  situation  (only  concealing  his  name)  and 
Thornton’s  charges.  I mentioned  my  own  suspicions  of 
the  accuser,  and  my  desire  of  discovering  Dawson,  whom 
Thornton  appeared  to  me  artfully  to  secrete.  Lastly,  I 
concluded  with  a solemn  promise,  that  if  my  listener  could, 
by  any  zeal,  exertion,  knowledge,  or  contrivance  of  his 
own,  procure  the  detection  of  the  men  who,  I was  con- 
vinced, were  the  murderers,  a pension  of  three  hundred 
pounds  a year  should  be  immediately  settled  upon  him. 

During  my  communication,  the  patient  Job  sat  mute 
and  still,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  only  betray- 
ing, by  an  occasional  elevation  of  the  brows,  that  he  took 
the  slightest  interest  in  the  tale  : when,  however,  I touched 
upon  the  peroration,  which  so  tenderly  concluded  with  the 
mention  of  three  hundred  pounds  a year,  a visible  change 
came  over  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Jonson.  lie  rubbed 
his  hands  with  an  air  of  great  content,  and  one  sudden 
smile  broke  over  his  features,  and  almost  buried  his  eyes 
amid  the  intricate  host  of  wrinkles  which  it  called  forth  : 
the  smile  vanished  as  rapidly  as  it  came,  and  Mr.  Job 
turned  round  to  me  with  a solemn  and  sedate  aspect. 


2d6 


PELHAM;  OR, 


'‘Well,  jour  honor,’’  said  he,  “I’m  glad  you ’ve  told 
me  all : we  must  see  what  can  be  done.  As  for  Thorn- 
ton, I’m  afraid  we  sha’n’t  make  much  out  of  him,  for 
he ’s  an  old  offender,  whose  conscience  is  as  hard  as  a 
brickbat;  but  of  Dawson  I hope  better  things.  How- 
ever, you  must  let  me  go  now,  for  this  is  a matter  that 
requires  a vast  deal  of  private  consideration.  I shall  call 
upon  you  to-morrow,  sir,  before  ten  o’clock,  since  you 
say  matters  are  so  pressing ; and  I trust  you  will  then 
see  that  you  have  no  reason  to  repent  of  the  confidence 
you  have  placed  in  a man  of  honor?'* 

So  saying,  Mr.  Job  Jonson  emptied  the  remainder  of 
the  bottle  into  his  tumbler,  held  it  up  to  the  liglit  with 
the  gu^to  of  a connoisseur,  and  concluded  his  potations 
with  a hearty  smack  of  the  lips,  followed  by  a long  sigh. 

“Ah,  your  honor,”  said  he,  “good  wine  is  a marvellous 
whetter  of  the  intellect ; but  your  true  philosopher  is 
always  moderate  : for  my  part,  I never  exceed  my  two 
bottles.” 

And  with  these  words,  this  true  philosopher  took  his 
departure. 

No  sooner  was  I freed  from  his  presence,  than  my 
thoughts  flew  to  Ellen  ; I had  neither  been  able  to  call 
nor  write  the  whole  of  the  day;  and  I was  painfully  fear- 
ful lest  my  precaution  with  Sir  Reginald’s  valet  had  been 
frustrated,  and  the  alarm  of  his  imprisonment  had  reached 
her  and  Lady  Glanville.  Harassed  by  this  fear,  I disre- 
garded the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  immediately  repaired 
to  Berkeley-square. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  257 


Lady  and  Miss  Glanville  were  alone  and  at  dinner: 
the  servant  spoke  with  his  usual  unconcern.  They  are 
quite  well  ? said  I,  relieved,  but  still  anxious : and  the 
servant  replying  in  the  affirmative,  I again  returned 
home,  and  wrote  a long  and,  I hope,  consoling  letter  to 
Sir  Reginald. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

K.  Henry,  Lord  Say,  Jack  Cade  hath  sworn  to  have  thy  head. 

Say.  Ay,  but  I hope  your  Highness  shall  have  his. 

Second  Part  of  Henry  IV. 

Punctual  to  his  appointment,  the  next  morning  came 
Mr.  Job  Jonson.  I had  been  on  the  rack  of  expectation 
for  the  last  three  hours  previous  to  his  arrival,  and  the 
warmth  of  my  welcome  must  have  removed  any  little 
diffidence  with  which  so  shamefaced  a gentleman  might 
possibly  have  been  troubled. 

At  my  request,  he  sat  himself  down,  and  seeing  that 
my  breakfast  things  were  on  the  table,  remarked  what  a 
famous  appetite  the  fresh  air  always  gave  him.  I took 
the  hint,  and  pushed  the  rolls  towards  him.  He  imme- 
diately fell  to  work,  and,  for  the  next^quarter  of  an  hour, 
his  mouth  was  far  too  well  occupied  for  the  intrusive  im- 
pertinence of  words.  At  last  the  things  were  removed 
and  Mr.  Jonson  began. 

I have  thought  well  over  the  matter,  your  honor,  and 
22  * 


258 


PELHAM;  OK^ 


I believe  we  can  manage  to  trounce  the  rascals  — for  I 
agree  with  you,  that  there  is  not  a doubt  that  Thornton 
and  Dawson  are  the  real  criminals  ; but  the  affair,  sir,  is 
one  of  the  greatest  difficulty  and  importance  — nay,  of 
the  greatest  personal  danger.  My  life  may  be  the  forfeit 
of  my  desire  to  serve  you  — you  will  not,  therefore,  be 
surprised  at  my  accepting  your  liberal  offer  of  three  hun- 
dred a year,  should  I be  successful ; although  I do  assure 
you,  sir,  that  it  was  my  original  intention  to  reject  all  re- 
compense, for  I am  naturally  benevolent,  and  love  doing 
a good  action.  Indeed,  sir,  if  I were  alone  in  the  world, 
I should  scorn  any  remuneration,  for  virtue  is  its  own 
reward  ; but  a real  moralist,  your  honor,  must  not  forget 
his  duties  on  any  consideration,  and  I have  a little  family 
to  whom  my  loss  would  be  an  irreparable  injury;  this, 
upon  my  honor,  is  my  only  inducement  for  taking  advan- 
tage of  your  generosity;”  and,  as  the  moralist  ceased, 
he  took  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket  a paper,  which  he 
handed  to  me  with  his  usual  bow  of  deference. 

I glanced  over  it — it  was  a bond,  apparently  drawn  up 
in  all  the  legal  formalities,  pledging  myself,  in  case  Job 
Jonson,  before  the  expiration  of  three  days,  gave  that 
information  which  should  lead  to  the  detection  and  pun- 
ishment of  the  true  murderers  of  Sir  John  Tyrrell,  de- 
ceased, to  insure  to  the  said  Job  Jonson  the  yearly  an- 
nuity of  three  hundred  pounds. 

^‘It  is  with  much  pleasure  that  I shall  sign  this  paper,” 
said  I ; but  allow  me,  par  parenthese,  to  observe  that 
since  you  only  accept  the  annuity  for  the  sake  of  bene- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


25^ 


filing  your  little  family,  in  case  of  your  death,  this  an- 
nuity, ceasing  with  your  life,  will  leave  your  children  as 
penniless  as  at  present.’^ 

^‘  Pardon  me,  your  honor,’’ rejoined  Job,  not  a whit 
daunted  at  the  truth  of  my  remark,  can  insure 

“ 1 forgot  that,”  said  I,  signing  and  restoring  the  paper : 
and  now  to  business.” 

Jonson  gravely  and  carefully  looked  over  the  interest- 
ing document  I returned  to  him,  and  carefully  lapping  it 
in  three  envelopes,  inserted  it  in  a huge  red  pocket-book, 
which  he  thrust  into  an  innermost  pocket  in  his  waistcoat. 

“ Right,  sir,”  said  he,  slowly;  ‘‘  to  business.  Before  I 
begin,  you  must,  however,  promise  me,  upon  your  honor 
as  a gentleman,  the  strictest  secrecy  as  to  my  communi- 
cations.” 

I readily  agreed  to  this,  so  far  as  that  secrecy  did  not 
impede  my  present  object;  and  Job,  being  content  with 
this  condition,  resumed. 

You  must  forgive  me,  if,  in  order  to  arrive  at  the 
point  in  question,  I set  out  from  one  which  may  seem  to 
you  a little  distant.” 

I nodded  my  assent,  and  Job  continued. 

“ I have  known  Dawson  for  some  years  ; my  acquaint- 
ance with  him  commenced  at  Newmarket,  for  I have 
always  had  a slight  tendency  to  the  turf.  He  was  a 
wild,  foolish  fellow,  easily  led  into  any  mischief,  but  ever 
the  first  to  sneak  out  of  it;  in  short,  when  he  became 
one  of  us,  which  his  extravagance  soon  compelled  him 
to  do,  we  considered  him  as  a very  serviceable  tool,  but 


260 


PELHAM;  OR 


one  who,  while  he  was  quite  wicked  enough  to  begin  a 
bad  action,  was  much  too  weak  to  go  through  with  it ; 
accordingly  he  was  often  employed,  but  never  trusted. 
By  the  word  vs,  which  I see  has  excited  your  curiosity, 
I merely  mean  a body  corporate,  established  furtively  and 
restricted  solely  to  exploits  on  the  turf.  I think  it  right 
to  mention  this  (continued  Mr.  Jonson,  aristocratically), 
because  I have  the  honor  to  belong  to  many  other  socie- 
ties to  which  Dawson  could  never  have  been  admitted. 
Well,  sir,  our  club  was  at  last  broken  up,  and  Dawson 
was  left  to  shift  for  himself.  His  father  was  still  alive, 
and  the  young  hopeful,  having  quarrelled  with  him,  was 
in  the  greatest  distress.  He  came  to  me  with  a pitif’  1 
story,  and  a more  pitiful  face ; so  I took  compassion  upon 
the  poor  devil,  and  procured  him,  by  dint  of  great  inter- 
est, admission  into  a knot  of  good  fellows,  whom  [ visited, 
by  the  way,  last  night.  Here  I took  him  under  my  espe- 
cial care  ; and,  as  far  as  I could,  with  such  a dull-headed 
dromedary,  taught  him  some  of  the  most  elegant  arts  of 
my  profession.  However,  the  ungrateful  dog  soon  stole 
back  to  his  old  courses,  and  robbed  me  of  half  my  share 
of  a booty  to  which  I had  helped  him  myself.  I hate 
treachery  and  ingratitude,  your  honor  ; they  are  so  ter- 
ribly ungentlemanlike  ! 

I then  lost  sight  of  him  till  between  two  and  ^breo 
months  ago,  when  he  returned  to  town  and  attended  our 
meetings  in  company  with  Tom  Thornton,  who  had  been 
ehosen  a member  of  the  club  some  months  before.  Since 
we  had  met,  Dawson’s  father  had  died,  and  I thought  his 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  261 


flash  appearance  in  town  arose  from  his  new  inheritance. 
I was  mistaken  : old  Dawson  had  tied  up  the  property 
so  tightly,  that  the  young  one  could  not  scrape  enough 
to  pay  his  debts  ; accordingly,  before  he  came  to  town 
he  gave  up  his  life  interest  in  the  property  to  his  credi- 
tors. However  that  be,  Master  Dawson  seemed  at  the 
top  of  Fortune’s  wheel.  lie  kept  his  horses,  and  sported 
the  set  to  champagne  and  venison  : in  short,  there  would 
have  been  no  end  to  his  extravagance,  had  not  Thornton 
sucked  him  like  a leech. 

“ It  was  about  that  time  that  I asked  Dawson  for  a 
trifle  to  keep  me  from  gaol : for  I was  ill  in  bed,  and 
could  not  help  myself.  Will  you  believe,  sir,  that  the 
rascal  told  me  to  go  and  be  d — d,  and  Thornton  said 
amen?  I did  not  forget  the  ingratitude  of  mj  protegCj 
though  when  I recovered  I appeared  entirely  to  do  so. 
No  sooner  could  I walk  about,  than  I relieved  all  my 
necessities.  He  is  but  a fool  who  starves,  with  all  Lon- 
don before  him  ! In  proportion  as  my  finances  improved, 
Dawson’s  visibly  decayed.  With  them,  decreased  also 
his  spirits.  He  became  pensive  and  downcast ; never 
joined  any  of  our  parties,  and  gradually  grew  quite  a 
useless  member  of  the  corporation.  To  add  to  his  mel- 
ancholy, he  was  one  morning  present  at  the  execution  of 
an  unfortunate  associate  of  ours  ; this  made  a deep  im- 
pression upon  him  ; from  that  moment  he  became  thor- 
oughly moody  and  despondent.  He  was  frequently  heard 
talking  to  himself,  could  not  endure  to  be  left  alone  in 
the  dark,  and  began  rapidly  to  pine  away. 


262 


PELHAM;  OR, 


*^One  night  when  he  and  I were  seated  together,  he 
asked  me  if  I never  repented  of  my  sins,  and  then  added, 
with  a groan,  that  I had  never  committed  the  heinous 
crime  he  had.  I pressed  him  to  confess,  but  he  would 
not.  However,  I coupled  that  half  avowal  with  his  sud- 
den riches,  and  the  mysterious  circumstances  of  Sir  Jolin 
TyrrelPs  death  ; and  dark  suspicions  came  into  my  mind. 
At  that  time,  and  indeed  ever  since  Dawson  reappeared, 
we  were  often  in  the  habit  of  discussing  the  notorious 
murder  which  then  engrossed  public  attention  ; and  as 
Dawson  and  Thornton  had  been  witnesses  on  the  inquest, 
we  frequently  referred  to  them  respecting  it.  Dawson 
always  turned  pale,  and  avoided  the  subject ; Thornton, 
on  the  contrary,  brazened  it  out  with  his  usual  impudence. 
Dawson’s  aversion  to  the  mention  of  the  murder  now 
rame  into  ray  remembrance  with  double  weight,  to 
strengthen  my  suspicions  ; and,  on  conversing  with  one 
or  two  of  our  comrades,  I found  that  my  doubts  were 
more  than  shared,  and  that  Dawson  had  frequently,  when 
unusually  oppressed  with  bis  hypochondria,  hinted  at  his 
committal  of  some  dreadful  crime,  and  at  his  unceasing 
remorse  for  it. 

“By  degrees,  Dawson  grew  worse  and  worse  — his 
health  decayed,  he  started  at  a shadow  — drank  deeply, 
and  spoke,  in  his  intoxication,  words  that  made  the  hairs 
of  our  green  men  stand  on  end. 

“ ‘ We  must  not  suffer  this,’  said  Thornton,  whose  hardy 
effrontery  enabled  him  to  lord  it  over  the  jolly  boys  as  if 
le  were  their  chief:  ^his  ravings  and  humdurgeon  will 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  26^ 

unman  all  our  youngsters.^  And  so,  under  this  pretence, 
Thornton  had  the  unhappy  man  conveyed  away  to  a s'‘- 
cret  asylum,  known  only  to  the  chiefs  of  the  gang,  and 
appropriated  to  the  reception  of  persons  who,  from  the 
same  weakness  as  Dawson,  were  likely  to  endanger  others 
or  themselves.  There  many  a poor  wretch  has  been  se- 
cretly immured,  and  never  suffered  to  revisit  the  light  of 
Heaven.  The  moon’s  minions,  as  well  as  the  monarch’s, 
must  have  their  State  prisoners,  and  their  State  victims. 

‘‘Well,  sir,  I shall  not  detain  you  much  longer.  Last 
night,  after  your  obliging  confidence,  I repaired  to  the 
meeting ; Thornton  was  there,  and  very  much  out  of 
humor.  When  our  messmates  dropped  off,  and  we  were 
alone  at  one  corner  of  the  room,  I began  talking  to  him 
carelessly  about  his  accusation  of  your  friend,  who,  1 have 
since  learnt,  is  Sir  Reginald  Glanville  — an  old  friend  of 
mine,  too  ; ay,  you  may  look,  sir, — but  1 can  stake  my 
life  to  having  picked  his  pocket  ’one  night  at  the  Opera ! 
Thornton  was  greatly  surprised  at  my  early  intelligence 
of  a fact  hitherto  kept  so  profound  a secret ; however,  I 
explained  it  away  by  a boast  of  my  skill  in  acquiring  in- 
formation ; and  he  then  incautiously  let  out,  that  he  was 
exceedingly  vexed  with  himself  for  the  charge  he  had 
made  against  the  prisoner,  and  very  uneasy  at  the  urgent 
inquiries  set  on  foot  for  Dawson.  .More  and  more  con- 
vinced of  his  guilt,  I quitted  the  meeting,  and  went  to 
Dawson’s  retreat. 

“ For  fear  of  his  escape,  Thornton  had  had  him  closely 
confined  in  one  of  the  most  secret  rooms  in  the  house. 

2p 


264 


PELHAM;  OR, 


His  solitude  and  the  darkness  of  the  place,  combined 
with  his  remorse,  had  worked  upon  a mind,  never  too 
strong,  almost  to  insanity.  He  was  writhing  with  the 
most  acute  and  morbid  pangs  of  conscience  that  my 
experience,  which  has  been  pretty  ample,  ever  witnessed. 
The  old  hag  who  is  the  Hecate  (you  see,  sir,  I have  had  a 
classical  education)  of  the  place,  was  very  loath  to  admit 
me  to  him,  for  Thornton  had  bullied  her  into  a great  fear 
of  the  consequences  of  disobeying  his  instructions  ; but 
she  did  not  dare  to  resist  my  orders.  Accordingly  I had 
a long  interview  with  the  unfortunate  man  ; he  firmly  be- 
lieves that  Thornton  intends  to  murder  him  ; and  says, 
that  if  he  could  escape  from  his  dungeon,  he  would  sur- 
render himself  to  the  first  magistrate  he  could  find. 

I told  him  that  an  innocent  man  had  been  appre- 
hended for  the  crime  of  which  I knew  he  and  Thornton 
were  guilty  ; and  then  taking  upon  myself  the  office  of  a 
preacher,  I exhorted  him  to  atone,  as  far  as  possible,  for 
his  past  crime,  by  a full  and  faithful  confession,  that  would 
deliver  the  innocent  and  punish  the  guilty.  I held  out  to 
him  the  hope  that  this  confession  might  perhaps  serve  the 
purpose  of  king’s  evidence,  and  obtain  him  a pardon  for 
his  crime  ; and  I promised  to  use  my  utmost  zeal  and 
diligence  to  promote  his  escape  from  his  present  den. 

“ He  said,  in  answer,  that  he  did  not  wish  to  live  ; tnat 
he  suffered  the  greatest  tortures  of  mind  ; and  that  the 
only  comfort  earth  held  out  to  him  would  be  to  ease  his 
remorse  by  a full  acknowledgment  of  his  crime,  and  to 
hope  for  future  mercv  bv  expiating  his  offence  on  the 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN.  265 


scaffold;  all  this,  and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose, 
the  hen-hearted  fellow  told  me  with  sighs  and  groans.  I 
would  fain  have  taken  his  confession  on  the  spot,  and 
carried  it  away  with  me,  but  he  refused  to  give  it  to  me, 
or  to  any  one  but  a parson,  whose  services  he  implored 
me  to  procure  him.  I told  him,  at  first,  that  the  thing 
was  impossible  ; but,  moved  by  his  distress  and  remorse, 
I promised,  at  last,  to  bring  one  to-night,  who  should 
both  administer  spiritual  comfort  to  him  and  receive  his 
deposition.  My  idea  at  the  moment  was  to  disguise  my- 
self in  the  dress  of  the  pater  covef  and  perform  the 
double  job:  — since  then  I have  thought  of  a better 
scheme. 

“As  my  character,  you  see,  your  honor,  is  not  so  highly 
prized  by  the  magistrates  as  it  ought  to  be,  any  confession 
made  to  me  might  not  be  of  the  same  value  as  if  it  were 
made  to  any  one  else  — to  a gentleman  like  you,  for  in- 
stance ; and,  moreover,  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  appear  in 
evidence  against  any  of  the  fraternity  ; and  for  two  rea- 
sons : first,  because  I have  sworn  a solemn  oath  never  to 
do  so  ; and,  secondly,  because  I have  a very  fair  chance 
of  joining  Sir  John  Tyrrell  in  kingdom  come  if  I do. 
My  present  plan,  therefore,  if  it  meets  your  concurrence^ 
would  be  to  introduce  your  honor  as  the  parson,  and  for 
you  to  receive  the  confession,  which,  indeed,  you  might 
take  down  in  writing.  This  plan,  I candidly  confess,  is 

* Gipsy  slang— a parson,  or  minister  — but  generally  applied 
to  a priest  of  the  lowest  order. 


TL— 23 


266 


PELHAM;  OR, 


not  without  great  difficulty,  and  some  danger;  for  I have 
not  only  to  impose  you  upon  Dawson  as  a priest,  but  also 
upon  Brimstone  Bess  as  one  of  our  jolly  boys  ; since  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  any  real  parson  might  knock  a long 
time  at  her  door  before  it  would  be  opened  to  him.  You 
must,  therefore,  be  as  mum  as  a mole  unless  she  cants  tc 
you,  and  your  answers  must  then  be  such  as  I shall  die 
tate  ; otherwise  she  may  detect  you,  and,  should  any  ot 
the  true  men  be  in  the  house,  we  should  both  come  oft 
worse  than  we  went  in.” 

‘‘My  dear  Mr.  Job,”  replied  I,  “there  appears  to  me 
to  be  a much  easier  plan  than  all  this  ; and  that  is,  simply 
to  tell  the  Bow-street  officers  where  Dawson  may  be  found, 
and  I think  they  would  be  able  to  carry  him  away  from 
the  arms  of  Mrs.  Brimstone  Bess,  without  any  great  diffi- 
culty or  danger.” 

Jonson  smiled. 

“ I should  not  long  enjoy  my  annuity,  your  honor,  if  I 
vere  to  set  the  runners  upon  our  best  hive.  I should  be 
stung  to  death  before  the  week  were  out.  Even  you, 
should  you  accompany  me  to-night,  will  never  know  where 
the  spot  is  situated,  nor  would  you  discover  it  again  if 
you  searched  all  London,  with  the  whole  police  at  your 
back.  Besides,  Dawson  is  not  the  only  person  in  the 
house  for  whom  the  law  is  hunting  — there  are  a score 
others  whom  I have  no  desire  to  give  up  to  the  gallows — 
hid  among  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  house,  as  snug  as 
plums  in  a pudding.  Honor  forbid  that  I should  betray 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  261 

them  — and  for  nothing  too  ! No,  sir,  the  only  plan  I can 
think  of  is  the  one  I proposed  ; if  yon  do  not  approve  of 
it,  (and  it  certainly  is  open  to  exception,)  I must  devise 
some  other:  but  that  may  require  delay. 

No,  ray  good  Job,”  replied  I,  “ I am  ready  to  attend 
you  : but  could  we  not  manage  to  release  Dawson,  as  well 
as  take  his  deposition  ? — his  personal  evidence  is  worth 
all  the  written  ones  in  the  world.” 

^^Yery  true,”  answered  Job,  “and  if  it  be  possible  to 
give  Bess  the  slip  we  will.  However,  let  us  not  lose  what 
we  may  get  by  grasping  at  what  we  may  not ; let  us  have 
the  confession  first,  and  we  ’ll  try  for  the  release  after- 
wards. I have  another  reason  for  this,  sir,  which,  if  you 
knew  as  much  of  penitent  prigs  as  I do,  you  would  easily 
understand.  However,  it  may  be  explained  by  the  old 
proverb  of  ‘the  devil  was  sick,’  &c.  As  long  as  Dawson 
is  stowed  away  in  a dark  hole  and  fancies  devils  in  every 
corner,  he  may  be  very  anxious  to  make  confessions,  which, 
in  broad  day-light,  may  not  seem  to  him  so  desirable. 
Darkness  and  solitude  are  strange  stimulants  to  the  con- 
science, and  we  may  as  well  not  lose  any  advantage  they 
give  us.” 

“You  are  an  admirable  reasoner,”  cried  I,  “and  I am 
impatient  to  accompany  you — at  what  hour  shall  it  be  ?” 

“Not  much  before  midnight,”  answered  Jonson  ; “but 
your  honor  must  go  back  to  school  and  learn  lessons  be- 
fore then.  Suppose  Bess  were  to  address  you  thus  : ‘ Well, 
you  parish  bull  prig,  are  you  for  lushing  jackey,  or  patter 


268 


PELHAM;  OR, 


ing*  in  the  hum  box!’*  I’ll  be  bound  you  would  not 
know  how  to  answer.” 

I am  afraid  you  are  right,  Mr.  Jonson,”  said  I,  in  a 
tone  of  self-humiliation. 

“Never  mind,”  replied  the  compassionate  Job,  “we 
are  all  born  ignorant  — knowledge  is  not  learnt  in  a day. 
A few  of  the  most  common  and  necessary  words  in  our 
St.  Giles’s  Greek,  I shall  be  able  to  teach  you  before 
night;  and  I will,  beforehand,  prepare  the  old  lady  for 
seeing  a young  hand  in  the  profession.  As  I must  dis- 
guise you  before  we  go,  and  that  cannot  well  be  done 
here,  suppose  you  dine  with  me  at  my  lodgings.” 

“ I shall  be  too  happy,”  said  I,  not  a little  surprised  at 
the  offer. 

“I  am  in  Charlotte  street,  Bloomsbury,  No. — . You 
must  ask  for  me  by  the  name  of  Captain  De  Courcy,” 
said  Job,  with  dignity  : “ and  we  ’ll  dine  at  five,  in  order 
to  have  time  for  your  preliminary  initiation.” 

“ With  all  my  heart,”  said  I ; and  Mr.  Job  J onson  then 
rose,  and,  reminding  me  of  my  promise  of  secrecy,  tbok 
his  departure. 


* “Well,  you  parson  thief,  are  you  for  drinking  gin,  or  talking 
in  the  nulnit  ? ^' 


adventures  of  a gentleman.  269 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

Pectus  prseceptis  format  amicis.  — Hon. 

Est  quodam  prodire  tenus,  si  non  datur  ultra.  — Ihid. 

With  all  my  love  of  enterprise  and  adventure,  I cannot 
say  that  I should  have  particularly  chosen  the  project 
before  me  for  my  evening’s  amusement,  had  I been  left 
solely  to  my  own  will ; but  Glanville’s  situation  forbade 
me  to  think  of  self : and,  so  far  from  shrinking  at  the 
danger  to  which  T was  about  to  be  exposed,  I looked  for- 
ward with  the  utmost  impatience  to  the  hour  of  rejoining 
Jonson. 

There  was  yet  a long  time  upon  my  hands  before  five 
o’clock  ; and  the  tffought  of  Ellen  left  me  no  doubt  how 
it  should  be  passed.  I went  to  Berkeley-square  : Lady 
Glanville  rose  eagerly  when  I entered  the  drawing-room. 

“Have  you  seen  Reginald?”  said  she,  “or  do  you 
know  where  he  has  gone  ? ” 

I answered,  carelessly,  that  he  had  left  town  for  a few 
days,  and,  I believe,  merely  upon  a vague  excursion,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  country  air. 

“You  reassure  us,”  said  Lady  Glanville;  “we  have 
been  quite  alarmed  by  Seymour’s  manner.  He  appeared 
so  confused  when  he  told  us  Reginald  had  left  town,  that 
I really  thought  some  accident  had  happened  to  him.” 

23  * 


270 


PELHAM;  OR 


I sate  myself  by  Ellen,  who  appeared  wholly  occupied 
in  the  formation  of  a purse.  While  I was  whispering 
into  her  ear  words  which  brought  a thousand  blushes  to 
her  cheek,  Lady  Glanville  interrupted  me,  by  an  exclama- 
tion of  “ have  you  seen  the  papers  to-day,  Mr.  Pelham  ? 
and  on  my  reply  in  the  negative,  she  pointed  to  an  article 
in  the  Morning  Herald,  which  she  said  had  occupied  their 
conjectures  all  the  morning  — it  ran  thus  : — 

The  evening  before  last,  a person  of  rank  and  celeb- 

ty  was  privately  carried  before  the  Magistrate  at . 

Since  then,  he  has  undergone  an  examination,  the  nature 
of  which,  as  well  as  the  name  of  the  individual,  is  as  yet 
kept  a profound  secret.” 

I believe  that  I have  so  firm  a command  over  my  coun- 
tenance, that  I should  not  change  tint  nor  muscle,  to  hear 
of  the  greatest  calamity  that  could  happen  to  me.  I did 
not  therefore  betray  a single  one  of  the  emotions  this 
paragraph  excited  within  me,  but  appeared,  on  the  con- 
trary, as  much  at  a loss  as  Lady  Glanville,  and  wondered 
and  guessed  with  her,  till  she  remembered  my  present 
situation  in  the  family,  and  left  me  alone  with  Ellen. 

Why  should  the  tete-d-tete  of  lovers  be  so  uninteresting 
to  the  world,  when  there  is  scarcely  a being  in  it  who  has 
not  loved  ? The  expressions  of  every  other  feeling  come 
home  to  us  all — the  expressions  of  love  weary  and  fatigue 
ns.  But  the  interview  of  that  morning  was  far  from  re- 
sembling those  delicious  meetings  wnich  the  history  of 
love  at  that  early  period  of  its  existence  so  often  delineates. 
I could  not  give  myself  up  to  happiness  which  a momeni 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  271 

mi^ht  destroy  : and  though  I veiled  my  anxiety  and  cold 
ness  from  Ellen,  I felt  it  as  a crime  to  indulge  even  the 
appearance  of  transport,  while  Glanville  lay  alone  and  in 
prison,  with  the  charge  of  murder  yet  uncontroverted,  and 
the  chances  of  its  doom  undiminished. 

The  clock  had  struck  four  before  I left  Ellen,  and  with- 
out returning  to  my  hotel,  I threw  myself  into  a hackney- 
coach,  and  drove  to  Charlotte-street.  The  worthy  Job 
received  me  with  his  wonted  dignity  and  ease;  his  lodg- 
ings consisted  of  a first  floor,  furnished  according  to  all 
the  notions  of  Bloomsbury  elegance  — viz.,  new,  glaring 
Brussels  carpeting ; convex  mirrors,  with  massy  gilt 
frames,  and  eagles  at  the  summit ; rosewood  chairs,  with 
chintz  cushions  ; bright  grates,  with  a flower-pot,  cut  out 
of  yellow  paper,  in  each  ; in  short,  all  that  especial  neat- 
ness of  upholstering  paraphernalia,  which  Yincent  used, 
not  inaptly,  to  designate  by  the  title  of  ''the  tea-chest 
taste.  Jonson  seemed  not  a little  proud  of  his  apart- 
ments — accordingly,  I complimented  him  upon  their 
elegance. 

" Under  the  rose  be  it  spoken,”  said  he,  " the  landlady, 
who  is  a widow,  believes  me  to  be  an  officer  on  half-pay, 
and  thinks  I wish  to  marry  her  ^ poor  woman  ! my  black 
1 jcks  and  green  coat  have  a witchery  that  surprises  even 
me  : who  would  be  a slovenly  thief,  when  there  are  such 
advantages  in  being  a smart  one  ? ^ 

“Right,  Mr.  Jonson  ! ” said  I;  “but  shall  I own  to 
you  that  I am  surprised  that  a gentleman  of  your  talents 
shouM  stoop  to  the  lower  arts  of  the  profession.  I always 


212 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Imagined  that  pocket-picking  was  a part  of  your  business 
left  only  to  the  plebeian  purloiner  ; now  I know,  to  my 
cost,  that  you  do  not  disdain  that  manual  accomplish- 
ment.’’ 

"‘Your  honor  speaks  like  a judge,”  answered  Job; 
the  fact  is,  that  I should  despise  what  you  rightly  de- 
signate ‘ the  lower  arts  of  the  profession,’  if  I did  not 
value  myself  upon  giving  them  a charm,  and  investing 
them  with  a dignity,  never  bestowed  upon  them  before. 
To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  superior  dexterity  with  w^hicli 
I manage  my  sleight  of  hand,  know,  that  four  times  I 
have  been  in  that  shop  where  you  saw  me  borrow  the 
diamond  ring,  which  you  now  remark  upon  my  little 
fifiger ; and  four  times  have  I brought  back  some  token 
of  my  visitations  ; nay,  the  shopman  is  so  far  from  sus- 
pecting me,  that  he  has  twice  favored  me  with  the  piteous 
tale  of  the  very  losses  I myself  brought  upon  him  ; and 
I make  no  doubt  that  I shall  hear,  in  a few  days,  the 
whole  history  of  the  departed  diamond,  now  in  my  keep- 
ing, coupled  with  that  of  your  honoris  a})pearance  and 
custom  I Allow  that  it  would  be  a pity  to  suffer  pride 
0 stand  in  the  way  of  the  talents  with  which  Providence 
has  blessed  me ; to  scorn  the  little  delicacies  of  art,  which 
I execute  so  well,  would,  in  my  opinion,  be  as  absurd  as 
for  an  epic  poet  to  disdain  the  composition  of  a perfect 
epigram,  or  a consummate  musician  the  melody  of  a fault- 
less song.” 

''Bravo  ! Mr.  Job,”  said  I ; "a  truly  great  man,  you 
see,  can  confer  honor  upon  trifles.”  More  I might  have* 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  273 

said,  but  was  stopped  short  by  the  entrance  of  the  land- 
lady, who  was  a fine,  fair,  w^ell-dressed,  comely  woman^ 
of  about  thirty-nine  years  and  eleven  months  ; or,  to  speak 
less  precisely,  between  thirty  and  forty.  She  came  to 
announce  that  dinner  was  served  below.  We  descended, 
and  found  a sumptuous  repast  of  roast  beef  and  fish  ; this 
primary  course  was  succeeded  by  that  great  dainty  with 
common  people  — a duck  and  green  peas. 

^‘TJpon  my  word,  Mr.  Jonson,”  said  I,  “you  fare  like 
a prince ; your  weekly  expenditure  must  be  pretty  con- 
siderable for  a single  gentleman.’’ 

“ I do  n’t  know,”  answered  Jonson,  with  an  air  of  lordly 
indifference  — “I  have  never  paid  my  good  hostess  any 
coin  but  compliments,  and  in  all  probability  never  shall.” 

Was  there  ever  a better  illustration  of  Moore’s  admo- 
nition — 

‘0  ladies,  beware  of  a gay  young  knight,’  &c. 

After  dinner  we  remounted  to  the  apartments  Job  em- 
phatically called  own;  and  he  then  proceeded  to  ini- 
tiate me  in  those  phrases  of  the  noble  language  of 
“ Flash  ” which  might  best  serve  my  necessities  on  the 
approaching  occasion.  The  slang  part  of  my  Cambridge 
education  had  made  me  acquainted  with  some  little  ele- 
mentary knowledge,  which  rendered  Jonson’s  precepts 
less  strange  and  abstruse.  In  this  lecture  “ sweet  and 
holy,”  the  hours  passed  away  till  it  became  time  for  me 
to  dress.  Mr.  Jonson  then  took  me  into  the  penetralia 
of  his  bed-room.  I stumbled  against  an  enormous  trunk. 
On  hearing  the  involuntary  anathema  which  this  accident 


21i 


PELHAM;  OR, 


conjured  up  to  my  lips,  Jonson  said — ^‘Ah,  sir  I — do  ob- 
lige me  by  trying  to  move  that  box.” 

I did  ^o,  but  could  not  stir  it  an  inch. 

I 

‘‘Your  honor  never  saw  2^  jewel  box  so  heavy  before,  I 
think,”  said  Jonson,  with  a smile. 

“A  jewel  box  I ” 

“Yes,”  returned  Jonson  — “a  jewel  box,  for  it  is- fuh 

precious  stones!  When  I go  away  — not  a little  in 
my  good  landlady’s  books  — I shall  desire  her,  very  im- 
portantly, to  take  the  greatest  care  of  * my  box.^  Egad  ! 
it  would  be  a treasure  to  MacAdam ; he  might  pound  its 
flinty  contents  into  a street.” 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Jonson  unlocked  a wardrobe  in 
the  room,  and  produced  a full  suit  of  rusty  black. 

“ There  ! ” said  he,  with  an  air  of  satisfaction — “there  I 
this  will  be  your  first  step  to  the  pulpit.” 

I doffed  my  own  attire,  and  with  “some  natural  sighs” 
at  the  deformity  of  my  approaching  metamorphosis,  I 
slowly  indued  myself  in  the  clerical  garments ; they  were 
much  too  wide,  and  a little  too  short  for  me  ; but  Jonson 
turned  me  round  as  if  I were  his  eldest  son,  breeched  for 
the  first  time,  and  declared,  with  an  emphatical  oath,  that 
the  clothes  fitted  me  to  a hair. 

My  host  next  opened  a tin  dressing-box  of  large  di- 
mensions, from  which  he  took  sundry  powders,  loti  ..ns, 
and  paints.  Nothing  but  my  extreme  friendship  for  Glan- 
ville  could  ever  have  supported  me  through  the  operation 
I then  underwent.  My  poor  complexion,  thought  I,  with 
tears  in  my  eyes,  it  is  ruined  forever ! To  crown  all  — 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  2^5 

Jonson  robbed  me,  by  four  clips  of  his  scissors,  of  tli3 
luxuriant  locks  which,  from  the  pampered  indulgence  so 
long  accorded  to  them,  might  have  rebelled  against  the 
new  dynasty  which  Jonson  now  elected  to  the  crown. 
This  dynasty  consisted  of  a shaggy  but  admirably  made 
wig,  of  a sandy  color.  When  I was  thus  completely  at- 
tired from  head  to  foot,  Job  displayed  me  to  myself  be- 
fore a full-length  looking-glass. 

Had  I gazed  at  the  reflection  forever,  I should  not 
have  recognized  either  my  form  or  visage.  I thought  my 
soul  had  undergone  a real  transmigration,  and  not  carried 
to  its  new  body  a particle  of  the  original  one.  What 
appeared  the  most  singular  was,  that  I did  not  seem  even 
to  myself  at  all  a ridiculous  or  outre  figure  ; so  admirably 
had  the  skill  of  Mr.  J^onson  been  employed.  I over- 
whelmed him  with  encomiums,  which  he  took  au  piea  de 
la  lettre.  Never,  indeed,  was  there  a man  so  vain  of  being 
a rogue. 

“ But,’’  said  I,  why  this  disguise  ? Your  friends  will, 
probably,  be  well  versed  enough  in  the  mysteries  of  meta- 
morphosis, to  see  even  through  your  arts ; and,  as  they 
have  never  beheld  me  before,  it  would  very  little  matter 
if  I went  in  propria  persona.''^ 

‘‘True,”  answered  Job,  “but  you  don’t  reflect  that 
without  disguise  you  may  hereafter  be  recognized  ; our 
friends  walk  in  Bond-street  as  well  as  your  honor ; and, 
in  that  case,  you  might  be  shot  without  a second,  as  the 
saying  is.” 

“You  have  convinced  me,  said  I ; “and  now,  before 


270 


PELHAM;  OR 


we  start,  let  me  say  one  word  further  respecting  our 
object,  I tell  you,  fairly,  that  I think  Dawson’s  written 
deposition  but  a secondary  point : and  for  this  reason, 
should  it  not  be  supported  by  any  circumstantial  or  local 
evidence,  hereafter  to  be  ascertained,  it  may  be  quite  in- 
sufficient fully  to  acquit  Glanville  (in  spite  of  all  appear- 
ances), and  criminate  the  real  murderers.  If,  therefore, 
it  be  possible  to  carry  off  Dawson,  after  having  secured 
his  confession,  we  must.  I think  it  right  to  insist  more 
particularly  on  this  point,  as  you  appeared  to  me  rather 
averse  to  it  this  morning.’^ 

“I  say  ditto  to  your  honor,’^  returned  Job;  “and  you 
may  be  sure  that  I shall  do  all  in  my  power  to  effect  your 
object,  not  only  from  that  love  of  virtue  which  is  im- 
planted in  my  mind,  when  no  stronger  inducement  leads 
me  astray,  but  from  the  more  worldly  reminiscence,  that 
the  annuity  w^e  have  agreed  upon  is  only  to  be  given  in 
case  of  success  — not  merely  for  ivell-meaning  attempts. 
To  say  that  I have  no  objection  to  the  release  of  Dawson, 
w'ould  be  to  deceive  your  honor,  — I own  that  T have, — 
and  the  objection  is,  first,  my  fear  lest  he  should  peach 
respecting  other  affairs  besides  the  murder  of  Sir  John 
Tyrrell ; and,  secondly,  my  scruples  as  to  appearing  to 
interfere  wdth  his  escape.  Both  of  these  chances  expose 
me  to  great  danger  ; however,  one  does  not  get  three 
hundred  a-year  for  w^ashing  one^s  hands,  and  I must  bal- 
ance the  one  against  the  other. 

“You  are  a sensible  man,  Mr.  Job,’’  said  I,  “and  1 am 
sure  you  will  richly  earn  and  long  enjoy  your  annuity.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  277 

As  I said  this,  the  watchman  beneath  our  window  called 
past  eleven  ! ’’  and  Jonson,  starting  up,  hastily  changed 
his  own  gay  gear  for  a more  simple  dress,  and  throwing 
over  all  a Scotch  plaid,  gave  me  a similar  one,  in  which 
I closely  wrapped  myself.  We  descended  the  stairs  sofily, 
and  Jonson  let  us  out  into  the  street  by  the  “open  sesame’^ 
of  a key  which  he  retained  about  his  person. 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

Et  cantare  pares,  et  respondere  parati. — Virgil. 

As  we  walked  on  into  Tottenham-court-road,  where  we 
expected  to  find  a hackney-coach,  my  companion  earnestly 
and  strenuously  impressed  on  my  mind  the  necessity  of 
implicitly  obeying  any  instructions  or  hints  he  might  give 
me  in  the  course  of  our  adventure.  “ Remember,^’ said 
he,  forcibly,  “that  the  least  deviaiion  from  them  will  not 
only  defeat  our  object  of  removing  Dawson,  but  even 
expose  our  lives  to  the  most  imminent  peril.’’  I faith- 
fully promised  to  conform  to  the  minutest  tittle  of  his 
instructions. 

We  came  to  a stand  of  coaches,  Jonson  selected  one, 
and  gave  the  coachman  an  order;  he  took  care  it  should 
not  reach  my  ears.  During  the  half-hour  we  passed  in 
this  vehicle.  Job  examined  and  re-examined  me  in  my 
‘canting  catechism,”  as  he  termed  it.  He  expressed  him 
II  —24 


278 


PELHAM;  OR, 


self  mucli  pleased  with  the  quickness  of  my  parts,  and 
honored  me  with  an  assurance  that  in  less  than  three 
months  he  would  engage  to  make  me  as  complete  a ruf- 
fler  as  ever  nailed  a swell. 

To  this  gratifying  compliment  I made  the  best  return 
ill  my  power. 

You  must  not  suppose,^’  said  Jonson,  some  minutes 
afterwards,  “from  our  use  of  this  language,  that  our  club 
consists  of  the  lower  order  of  thieves — quite  the  contrary; 
we  are  a knot  of  gentlemen  adventurers  who  wear  the 
best  clothes,  ride  the  best  hacks,  freque'nt  the  best  gaming- 
houses as  well  as  the  genteelest  haunts,  and  sometimes 
keep  the  first  company,  in  London.  We  are  limited  in 
number  : we  have  nothing  in  common  with  ordinary  prigs, 
and  should  my  own  little  private  amusements  (as  you  ap- 
propriately term  them)  be  known  in  the  set,  I should  have 
a very  fair  chance  of  being  expelled  for  ungentlemanlike 
practices.  We  rarely  condescend  to  speak  “ flash to 
each  other  in  our  ordinary  meetings,  but  we  find  it  neces- 
sary for  many  shifts  to  which  fortune  sometimes  drives 
us.  The  house  you  are  going  this  night  to  visit,  is  a sort 
of  colony  we  have  established  for  whatever  persons 
amongst  us  are  in  danger  of  blood-money.*  There  they 
sometimes  lie  concealed  for  weeks  together,  and  are  at 
last  shipped  off  for  the  continent,  or  enter  the  world 
under  a new  alias.  To  this  refuge  of  the  distressed  we 
also  send  any  of  the  mess  who,  like  Dawson,  are  troubled 
with  qualms  of  conscience  which  are  likely  to  endanger 


* Rewards  for  the  apprehension  of  thieves,  &c 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


213 


the  commonwealth  : there  they  remain,  as  in  a hos})ital, 
till  death  or  a cure  ; in  short,  we  put  the  house,  like  its 
inmates,  to  any  purposes  likely  to  frustrate  our  enemies 
and  serve  ourselves.  Old  Brimstone  Bess,  to  whom  I 
shall  introduce  you,  is,  as  I before  said,  the  guardian  of 
the  place  ; and  the  language  that  respectable  lady  chiefly 
indulges  in,  is  the  one  into  which  you  have  just  acquired 
so  good  an  insight.  Partly  in  compliment  to  her,  and 
partly  from  inclination,  the  dialect  adopted  in  her  house 
is  almost  entirely  ^ flash  ! ’ and  you,  therefore,  perceive 
the  necessity  of  appearing  not  utterly  ignorant  of  a ton- 
gue which  is  not  only  the  language  of  the  country,  but 
one  with  which  no  true  boy,  however  high  in  his  profes- 
sion, is  ever  unacquainted.’^ 

By  the  time  Jonson  had  finished  this  speech,  the  coach 
stopped  — I looked  eagerly  out  of  the  window  — Jonson 
observed  the  motion:  ^‘We  have  not  got  half-way  yet, 
your  honor,”  said  he.  We  left  the  coach,  which  Jonson 
requested  me  to  pay,  and  walked  on. 

“Tell  me  frankly,  sir,”  said  Job,  “do  you  know  where 
you  are  ? ” 

“Not  in  the  least,”  replied  I,  looking  wistfully  up  a 
long,  dull,  ill-lighted  street. 

Job  rolled  his  sinister  eye  towards  me  with  a searching 
look,  and  then  turning  abruptly  to  the  right,  penetrated 
into  a sort  of  covered  lane,  or  court,  which  terminated  in 
an  alley,  that  brought  us  suddenly  to  a stand  of  three 
coaches;  one  of  these  Job  hailed  — we  entered  it  — a se- 
cret direction  was  given,  and  we  drove  furiously  on,  faster 
2q 


280 


PELHAM;  OR 


than  I snould  think  the  crazy  body  of  hackney  chariot 
ever  drove  before.  I observed  that  vve  had  now  entered 
a part  of  the  town  which  was  singularly  strange  to  me  ; 
the  houses  were  old,  and  for  the  most  part  of  the  mean- 
est description  ; we  appeared  to  me  to  be  threading  a 
labyrinth  of  alleys ; once,  I imagined  that  I caught, 
through  a sudden  opening,  a glimpse  of  the  river,  but  we 
passed  so  rapidly,  that  my  eye  might  have  deceived  me. 
At  length  we  stopped  : the  coachman  was  again  dis- 
missed, and  I again  walked  onwards,  under  the  guidance 
and  almost  at  the  mercy  of  my  honest  companion. 

Jonson  did  not  address  me — he  was  silent  and  absorbed, 
and  I had  therefore  full  leisure  to  consider  my  present 
situation.  Though  (thanks  to  my  physical  constitution) 
I am  as  callous  to  fear  as  most  men,  a few  chilling  ap- 
prehensions certainly  flitted  across  my  mind,  when  I looked 
round  at  the  dim  and  dreary  sheds — houses  they  were  not 
— which  were  on  either  side  of  our  path  ; only,  here  and 
there,  a single  lamp  shed  a sickly  light  upon  the  dismal 
and  intersecting  lanes  (though  lane  is  too  lofty  a word), 
through  which  our  footsteps  woke  a solitary  sound. 
Sometimes  this  feeble  light  was  altogether  withheld,  and 
I could  scarcely  catch  even  the  outline  of  my  companion's 
muscular  frame.  However,  he  strode  on  through  the 
darkness  with  the  mechanical  rapidity  of  one  to  whom 
every  stone  is  familiar.  I listened  eagerly  for  the  sound 
of  the  watchman’s  voice  ; — in  vain — that,  note  was  never 
heard  in  those  desolate  recesses.  My  ear  drank  in  noth- 
ing but  the  sound  of  our  own  footsteps,  or  the  occasional 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


281 


burst  of  obscene  and  unholy  merriment  from  some  half- 
closed  hovel,  where  Infamy  and  Yice  were  holding  reveis. 
Now  and  then,  a wretched  thing,  in  the  vilest  extreme  of 
want,  and  loathsomeness,  and  rags,  loitered  by  the  unfre- 
que  it  lamps,  and  interrupted  our  progress  with  solicita- 
tions which  made  my  blood  run  cold.  By  degrees  even 
these  tokens  of  life  ceased  — the  last  lamp  was  entirely 
shut  from  our  view — we  were  in  utter  darkness. 

“We  are  near  our  journey’s  end  now,”  whispered 
Jonson. 

At  these  words  a thousand  unwelcome  reflections 
forced  themselves  involuntarily  on  my  mind  : I was  about 
to  plunge  into  the  most  secret  retreat  of  men  whom  long 
habits  of  villany  and  desperate  abandonment  had  hard- 
ened into  a nature  which  had  scarcely  a sympathy  with 
my  own  ; unarmed  and  defenceless,  I was  about  to  pene- 
trate a concealment  upon  which  their  lives  perhaps  de- 
pended ; what  could  I anticipate  from  their  vengeance, 
but  the  sure  hand  and  the  deadly  knife,  which  their  self- 
preservation  would  more  than  justify  to  such  lawless 
reasoners  ? And  who  was  niy  companion  ? One  who 
literally  gloried  in  the  perfection  of  his  nefarious  prac- 
tices; and  who,  if  he  had  stopped  short  of  the  w^orst 
enormities,  seemed  neither  to  disown  the  principle  upon 
which  they  were  committed,  nor  to  balance  for  a moment 
between  his  interest  and  his  conscience. 

Nor  did  he  attempt  to  conceal  from  me  the  danger  to 
which  I was  exposed  ; much  as  his  daring  habits  of  life, 

And  the  good  fortune  which  had  attended  him,  must  have 
24* 


282 


PELHAM;  OR, 


hardened  his  nerves,  even  he  seemed  fully  sensible  of  the 
peril  he  incurred — a peril  certainly  considerably  less  than 
that  which  attended  my  temerity.  Bitterly  did  I repent, 
as  these  reflections  rapidly  passed  my  mind,  my  negligence 
in  not  providing  myself  with  a single  weapon  in  case  of 
need  ; the  worst  pang  of  death  is  the  falling  without  a 
struggle. 

However,  it  was  no  moment  for  the  indulgence  of  fear  ; 
it  was  rather  one  of  those  eventful  periods  which  so  rarely 
occur  in  the  monotony  of  common  life,  when  our  minds 
are  sounded  to  their  utmost  depths : and  energies,  of 
which  we  dreamt  not  when  at  rest  in  their  secret  retreats, 
arise  like  spirits  at  the  summons  of  the  wizard,  and  bring 
to  the  invoking  mind  an  unlooked-for  and  preternatural 
aid. 

There  was  something  too  in  the  disposition  of  my  guide, 
which  gave  me  a confidence  in  him,  not  warranted  by  the 
occupations  of  his  life  ; an  easy  and  frank  boldness,  an 
ingenuous  vanity  of  abilities,  skilfully,  though  dishonestly 
exerted,  which  had  nothing  of  the  meanness  and  mystery 
of  an  ordinary  villain,  and  which  being  equally  prominent 
with  the  rascality  they  adorned,  prevented  the  attention 
from  dwelling  upon  the  darker  shades  of  his  character. 
Besides,  I had  so  closely  entwined  his  interest  with  my 
own,  that  I felt  there  could  be  no  possible  ground  either 
for  suspecting  him  of  any  deceit  towards  me,  or  of  omit- 
ting any  art  or  exertion  which  could  conduce  to  our  mutual 
safety  or  our  common  end. 

Forcing  myself  to  dwell  solely  upon  the  more  encour* 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  288 

a^ing  side  of  the  enterprise  I had  undertaken,  I contnued 
to  move  on  with  ray  worthy  comrade,  silent  and  in  dark- 
ness, for  some  minutes  longer  — Jonson  then  halted. 

“Are  you  quite  prepared,  sir  ? ” said  he,  in  a whisper : 
“if  your  heart  fails,  in  Heaven’s  name  let  us  turn  back: 
the  least  evident  terror  will  be  as  much  as  your  life  is 
worth.” 

My  thoughts  were  upon  Reginald  and  Ellen,  as  I re- 
plied — 

“You  have  told  and  convinced  me  that  I may  trust  in 
you,  and  I have  no  fears  ; my  present  object  is  one  as 
strong  to  me  as  life.” 

“ I would  we  had  a rejoined  Job,  musingly  ; “I 

should  like  to  see  your  face ; but  will  you  give  me  youi 
band,  sir  ? ” 

I did,  and  Jonson  held  it  in  his  own  for  more  than  a 
minute. 

“’Fore  Gad,  sir,”  said  he  at  last,  “I  would  you  were 
one  of  us.  You  would  live  a brave  man,  and  die  a game 
one.  Your  pulse  is  like  iron;  and  your  hand  does  not 
sway  — no  — not  so  much  as  to  wave  a dove’s  feather;  it 
would  be  a burning  shame  if  harm  came  to  so  stout  a 
heart.”  Job  moved  on  a few  steps.  “Now,  sir,”  he 
whispered,  “ remember  your  flash  ; do  exactly  as  I may 
have  occasion  to  tell  you  ; and  be  sure  to  sit  away  from 
the  light,  should  we  be  in  company.” 

With  these  words  he  stopped.  By  the  touch  (for  it  was 
tOo  dark  to  see,)  I felt  that  he  was  bending  down,  appar- 
ently in  a listening  attitude  ; presently  he  tapped  five  times 


284 


PELHAM;  OR, 


at  what  I supposed  was  the  door,  though  I afterwards 
discovered  it  was  the  shutter  to  a window  ; upon  this,  a 
faint  light  broke  through  the  crevices  of  the  boards,  and 
a low  voice  uttered  some  sound,  which  my  ear  did  not 
catch.  Job  replied  in  the  same  key,  and  in  words  which 
were  perfectly  unintelligible  to  me  ; the  light  disappeared  ; 
Job  moved  round,  as  if  turning  a corner.  I heard  the 
heavy  bolts  and  bars  of  a door  slowly  withdrawn  ; and 
in  a few  moments,  a harsh  voice  said,  in  the  thieves’  dia- 
lect— 

Ruffling  Job,  my  prince  of  prigs,  is  that  you  ? are  you 
come  to  the  ken  alone,  or  do  you  carry  double  ? ” 

^‘Ah,  Bess,  my  covess,  strike  me  blind  if  my  sees  don’t 
tout  your  bingo  muns  in  spite  of  the  darkmans.  Egad, 
you  carry  a bene  blink  aloft.  Come  to  the  ken  alone  — 
no  ! my  blowen  ; did  not  I tell  you  I should  bring  a pater 
cove,  to  chop  up  the  whiners  for  Dawson  ? ” * 

“ Stubble  it,  you  ben,  you  deserve  to  cly  the  jerk  for 
your  patter;  come  in,  and  be  d — d to  you.”']’ 

Upon  this  invitation,  Jonson,  seizing  me  by  the  arm, 
pushed  me  into  the  house,  and  followed.  “ Go  for  a glim, 
Bess,  to  light  in  the  black  ’un  with  proper  respect.  I ’ll 
close  the  gig  of  the  crib.” 

At  this  order,  delivered  in  an  authoritative  tone,  the 

* “Strike  me  blind  if  my  eyes  don’t  see  your  brandy  face  in 
roite  of  the  night.  Come  to  the  house  alone  — no!  my  woman  ; 
r*id  not  I tell  you  I should  bring  a parson  — to  say  prayers  for 
>iawson  ? ” 

f “ Hold  your  tongue,  fool,  you  deserve  to  be  whipped  for  your 
chatter.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


285 


old  woman,  mumbling  ^‘strange  oaths”  to  herself,  moved 
away;  when  she  was  out  of  hearing,  Job  whispered, 

Mark,  I shall  leave  the  bolts  undrawn  ; the  door  opens 
with  a latch,  which  you  press  thus  — do  not  forget  the 
spring  ; it  is  easy,  but  peculiar  ; should  you  be  forced  to 
run  for  it,  you  will  also  remember,  above  all,  when  you 
are  out  of  the  door,  to  turn  to  the  right,  and  go  straight 
forwards.” 

The  old  woman  now  reappeared  with  a light,  and 
Jonson  ceased,  and  moved  hastily  towards  her : I followed. 
Thi  old  woman  asked  whether  the  door  had  been  carefully 
closed,  and  Jonson,  with  an  oath  at  her  doubts  of  such  a 
matter,  ansVered  in  the  affirmative. 

We  proceeded  onwards,  through  a long  and  very  nar- 
row passage,  till  Bess  opened  a small  door  to  the  right, 
and  introduced  us  into  a large  room,  which,  to  my  great 
dismay,  I found  already  occupied  by  four  men,  who  were 
sitting,  half  immersed  in  smoke,  by  an  oak  table,  with  a 
capacious  bowl  of  hot  liquor  before  them.  At  the  back- 
ground of  this  room,  which  resembled  the  kitchen  of  a 
public-house,  was  an  enormous  skreen,  of  antique  fashion  ; 
a low  fire  burnt  sullenly  in  the  grate,  and  beside  it  was 
one  of  those  high-backed  chairs  seen  frequently  in  old 
houses  and  old  pictures.  A clock  stood  in  one  corner, 
and  in  the  opposite  nook  was  a flight  of  narrow  stairs, 
which  led  downwards,  probably  to  a cellar.  On  a row 
of  shelves  were  various  bottles  of  the  different  liquors 
generally  in  request  among  the  “flash”  gentry,  together 
with  an  old-fashioned  fiddle,  two  bridles,  and  some  strange 


286  PELHAM;  OR, 

looking  tools,  probably  of  more  use  to  true  boys  than  to 
honest  men. 

Brimstone  Bess  was  a woman  about  the  middle  size, 
but  with  bones  and  sinews  which  would  not  have  dis- 
graced a prize-fighter ; a cap,  that  might  have  been  cleaner, 
was  rather  thrown  than  put  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
developing,  to  full  advantage,  the  few  scanty  locks  of 
grizzled  ebon  which  adorned  her  countenance.  Her  eyes, 
large,  black,  and  prominent,  sparkled  with  a fire  half 
vivacious,  half  vixen.  The  nasal  feature  was  broad  and 
fungous,  and,  as  well  as  the  whole  of  her  capacious 
physiognomy,  blushed  with  the  deepest  scarlet : it  was 
evident  to  see  that  many  a full  bottle  of  British  com- 
pounds’’ had  contributed  to  the  feeding  of  that  burning 

% 

and  phosphoric  illumination,  which  was  indeed,  the 
outward  and  visible  sign  of  an  inward  and  spiritual 
grace.” 

The  expression  of  the  countenance  was  not  wholly  bad. 
Amidst  the  deep  traces  of  searing  vice  and  unrestrained 
passion  — amidst  all  that  was  bold  and  unfeininine,  and 
fierce  and  crafty,  there  was  a latent  look  of  coarse  good- 
humor,  a twinkle  of  the  eye  that  bespoke  a tendency  to 
mirth  and  drollery,  and  an  upward  curve  of  the  lip  that 
showed,  however  the  human  creature  might  be  debased, 
it  still  cherished  its  grand  characteristic — the  propensity 
to  laughter. 

The  garb  of  this  Dame  Leonarda  was  by  no  means  of 
that  humble  nature  which  one  might  have  supposed.  A 
gown  of  crimson  silk,  flounced  and  furbelowed  to  the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


28T 


knees,  was  tastefully  relieved  by  a bright  yellow  shawl  *, 
and  a pair  of  heavy  pendants  glittered  in  her  ears,  which 
were  of  the  size  proper  to  receive  “ the  big  words  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  hearing.  Probably  this  finery  had 
its  origin  in  the  policy  of  her  guests,  who  had  seen  enough 
of  life  to  know  that  age,  which  tames  all  other  passions, 
never  tames  the  passion  of  dress  in  a woman’s  heart. 

Nv:  sooner  did  the  four  revellers  set  their  eyes  upon  me 
than  they  all  rose. 

Zounds,  Bess  ! ’^  cried  the  tallest  of  them,  what 
cull ’s  this  ? Is  this  a bowsing  ken  for  every  cove  to  shove 
his  trunk  in  ? ” 

“ What  ho,  my  kiddy  ? ” cried  Job,  “ do  n’t  be  glim- 
flashy  ; why  you ’d  cry  beef  on  a blater ; * the  cove  is  a 
bob  cull,  and  a pal  of  my  own  ; and  moreover,  is  as  pretty 
a Tyburn  blossom  as  ever  was  brought  up  to  ride  a horse 
foaled  by  an  acorn.” 

Upon  this  commendatory  introduction  I was  forthwith 
surrounded,  and  one  of  the  four  proposed  that  I should 
be  immediately  “elected.” 

This  motion,  which  was  probably  no  gratifying  cere- 
mony, Job  negatived'with  a dictatorial  air,  and  reminded 
his  comrades  that  however  they  might  find  it  convenient 
to  lower  themselves  occasionally,  yet  that  they  were  gen- 
tlemen sharpers,  and  not  vulgar  cracksmen  and  clyfakers, 
and  that,  therefore,  they  ought  to  welcome  me  with  the 
good  breeding  appropriate  to  their  station. 

* “ Uo  n’t  be  angry  ! Why  you ’d  cry  beef  on  a calf — the  mao 
is  a good  fellow,  and  a comrade  of  my  own,”  &c. 


288 


PELHAM;  OR, 


Upon  this  hint,  which  was  received  with  mingled 
laughter  and  deference,  (for  Job  seemed  to  be  a man  of 
might  among  these  Philistines,)  the  tallest  of  the  set,  who 
bore  the  euphonious  appellation  of  Spider-shanks,  politely 
asked  me  if  I would  “ blow  a cloud  with  him  ! ” and  upon 
my  assent,  (for  I thought  such  an  occupation  would  be 
the  best  excuse  for  silence,)  he  presented  me  with  a pipe 
of  tobacco,  to  which  Dame  Brimstone  applied  a light,  and 
I soon  lent  my  best  endeavors  to  darken  still  farther  the 
atmosphere  around  us. 

Mr.  Job  Jonson  then  began  artfully  to  turn  the  con- 
versation away  from  me  to  the  elder  confederates  of  his 
crew  ; these  were  all  spoken  of  under  certain  singular 
appellations  which  might  well  baffle  impertinent  curiosity. 
The  name  of  one  was  the  Gimlet,’’  another  Crack 
Crib,”  a third,  “ the  Magician,”  a fourth,  Cherry-colored 
Jowl.”  The  tallest  of  the  present  company  was  called 
(as  I before  said)  Spider-shanks,”  and  the  shortest, 

Fib  Fakescrew ; ” Job  himself  was  honored  by  the 
venerabile  nomen  of  ^‘Guinea  Pig.”  At  last  Job  ex- 
plained the  cause  of  my  appearance;  viz.,  his  wish  to 
pacify  Dawson’s  conscience  by  dressing  up  one  of  the 
pals,  whom  the  sinner  could  not  recognize,  as  an  autem 
bawler,”  and  so  obtaining  him  the  benefit  of  the  clergy 
without  endangering  the  gang  by  his  confession.  This 
detail  was  received  with  great  good  humor,  and  Job, 
watching  his  opportunity,  soon  after  rose,  and,  turning 
to  me,  said  — 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


289 


‘^Toddle,  my  bob  cull  — we  must  track  up  the  dancers 
and  tout  the  sinner.’’* 

I wanted  no  other  hint  to  leave  my  present  situation. 

The  ruffian  cly  thee,  Guinea  Pig,  for  stashing  the 
lush,”'j*  said  Spider-shanks,  helping  himself  out  of  the 
bowl,  which  was  nearly  empty. 

Stash  the  lush  !”|  cried  Mrs.  Brimstone,  ''ay,  and 
toddle  off  to  Ruggins.  Why,  you  would  not  be  boosing 
till  lightman’s  in  a square  crib  like  mine,  as  if  you  were 
in  a flash  panny  ! ” 

“ That ’s  bang  up,  mort ! ” cried  Fib.  "A  square  crib, 
indeed  ! ay,  square  as  Mr.  Newman’s  court-yard  — ding- 
boys  on  three  sides,  and  the  crap  on  the  fourth  ! ”§ 

Tliis  characteristic  witticism  was  received  with  great 
applause  ; and  Jonson,  taking  a candlestick  from  the  fair 
fingers  of  the  exasperated  Mrs.  Brimstone,  the  hand  thus 
conveniently  released  immediately  transferred  itself  to 
Fib’s  cheeks,  with  so  hearty  a concussion  that  it  almost 
brought  the  rash  jester  to  the  ground.  Jonson  and  I lost 
not  a moment  in  taking  advantage  of  the  confusion  this 
gentle  remonstrance  appeared  to  occasion  ; but  instantly 
left  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

* “ Move,  my  good  felJow,  we  must  go  up  stairs,  and  look  at  the 
sinner.’^ 

•j*  “ The  devil  take  thee,  for  stopping  the  drink.’* 

J “Stop  the  drink,  ay,  and  be  off  to  bed.  You  would  not  be 
drinking  till  day  — in  an  honest  house  like  mine,  as  if  you  were  m 
a disreputable  place!” 

§ “ That ’s  capital.  A square  crib  (honest  house)!  Ay,  square 
as  Newgate  coach-yard — rogues  on  three  sides,  and  the  gallows  on 
the  fourth.” 

II.— 25 


200 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

’Tis  true  that  we  are  in  great  danger ; 

The  greater,  therefore,  should  our  courage  be. 

Shakspearb. 

We  proceeded  a short  way,  when  we  were  stopped 
by  a door;  this  Job  opened,  and  a narrow  staircase, 
lijj^hted  from  above  by  a dim  lamp,  was  before  us.  We 
ascended,  and  found  ourselves  in  a sort  of  gallery  : here 
hung  another  lamp,  beneath  which  Job  opened  a closet. 

“ This  is  the  place  where  Bess  generally  leaves  the 
keys,’’  said  he  ; “ we  shall  find  them  here,  I hope.” 

So  saying.  Master  Job  entered,  leaving  me  in  the  pas- 
sage ; but  soon  returned  with  a disappointed  air. 

“The  old  haridan  has  left  them  below,”  said  he;  “I 
must  go  down  for  them  ; your  honor  will  wait  here  till  I 
return.” 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  honest  Job  immediately 
descended,  leaving  me  alone  with  my  own  reflections. 
Just  opposite  to  the  closet  was  the  door  of  some  apart- 
ment; I leant  accidentally  against  it;  it  was  only  ajar, 
and  gave  way  ; the  ordinary  consequence  in  such  acci- 
dents is  a certain  precipitation  from  the  centre  of  gravity. 
I am  not  exempt  from  the  general  lot,  and  accordingly 
entered  the  room  in  a manner  entii  ely  contrary  to  that 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  291 

which  my  natural  inclination  would  have  prompted  me  to 
adopt.  My  ear  was  accosted  by  a faint  voice,  which  pro- 
ceeded from  a bed  at  the  opposite  corner  : it  asked,  in 
the  thieves’  dialect,  and  in  the  feeble  accents  of  bodily 
weakness,  who  was  there  ? I did  not  judge  it  necessary 
to  make  any  reply,  but  was  withdrawing  as  gently  as  pos- 
sible, when  my  eye  rested  upon  a table  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  upon  which,  among  two  or  three  miscellaneous  arti- 
cles, were  deposited  a brace  of  pistols,  and  one  of  those 
admirable  swords,  made  according  to  the  modern  military 
regulation,  for  the  united  purpose  of  cut  and  thrust.  The 
light  which  enabled  me  to  discover  the  contents  of  the 
room,  proceeded  from  a rush-light  placed  in  the  grate  ; 
this  general  symptom  of  a valetudinarian,  together  with 
some  other  little  odd  matters  (combined  with  the  weak 
voice,  of  the  speaker),  impressed  me  with  the  idea  of 
having  intruded  into  the  chamber  of  some  sick  member 
of  the  crew.  Emboldened  by  this  notion,  and  by  per- 
ceiving that  the  curtains  were  drawn  closely  around  the 
bed,  so  that  the  inmate  could  have  optical  discernment 
of  nothing  that  occurred  without,  I could  not  resist  taking 
two  soft  steps  to  the  table,  and  quietly  removing  a weapon, 
whose  bright  face  seemed  to  invite  me  as  a long-known 
and  long-tried  friend. 

This  was  not,  however,  done  in  so  noiseless  a manner, 
but  what  the  voice  again  addressed  me,  in  a somewhat 
lOuder  key,  by  the  appellation  of  “ Brimstone  Bess,”  ask- 
ing, with  sundry  oaths,  “ what  was  the  matter  ?”  and  re- 
questing something  to  drink.  I need  scarcely  say  that, 


292 


PELHAM;  OR, 


as  before,  I made  no  reply,  but  crept  out  of  the  room  as 
gently  as  possible,  blessing  my  good  fortune  for  having 
thrown  into  ray  way  a weapon  with  the  use  of  which, 
above  all  others,  I was  acquainted.  Scarcely  had  I re- 
gained the  passage,  before  Jonson  re'appeared  with  the 
keys;  I showed  him  my  treasure  (for  indeed  it  was  of  no 
size  to  conceal). 

“Are  you  mad,  sir?”  said  he,  “or  do  you  think  that 
the  best  way  to  avoid  suspicion  is  to  walk  about  with  a 
drawn  sword  in  your  hand  ? I would  not  have  Bess  see 
you  for  the  best  diamond  I ever  borrowed.’'^  With  these 
words  Job  took  the  sword  from  my  reluctant  hand. 

“Where  did  you  get  it  ?”  said  he. 

I explained  in  a whisper,  and  Job,  reopening  the  door 
I had  so  unceremoniously  entered,  laid  the  weapon  softly 
on  a chair  that  stood  within  reach.  The  sick  man,  whose 
senses  were  of  course  rendered  doubly  acute  by  illness, 
once  more  demanded,  in  a fretful  tone,  who  was  there  ! 
And  Job  replied,  in  the  flash  language,  that  Bess  had 
sent  him  up  to  look  for  her  keys,  wliich  she  imagined  she 
had  left  there.  The  invalid  rejoined  by  a request  to  Jon- 
son to  reach  him  a draught,  and  we  had  to  undergo  a 
farther  delay  until  his  petition  was  complied  with  ; we 
then  proceeded  up  the  passage  till  we  came  to  another 
flight  of  steps,  which  led  to  a door;  Job  opened  it,  and 
we  entered  a room  of  no  common  dimensions. 

“This,”  said  he,  “is  Bess  Brimstone’s  sleeping  apart- 
ment ; whoever  goes  into  the  passage  that  leads  not  only 
to  Dawson’s  room,  but  to  the  several  other  chambers  oc- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


293 


cnpied  by  such  of  the  gang  as  require  particular  care, 
must  pass  first  through  this  room.  You  see  that  bell  by 
the  bedside  — I assure  you  it  is  no  ordinary  tiiitinnabu- 
lum  ; it  communicates  with  every  sleeping  apartment  in 
the  house,  and  is  only  rung  in  cases  of  great  alarm,  when 
every  boy  must  look  well  to  himself;  there  are  two  more 
of  this  description,  one  in  the  room  which  we  have  just 
left,  another  in  the  one  occupied  by  Spider-shanks,  who 
is  our  watch-dog,  and  keeps  his  kennel  below.  Those 
steps  in  the  common  room,  which  seem  to  lead  to  a cel- 
lar, conduct  to  his  den.  As  we  shall  have  to  come  back 
through  this  room,  you  see  the  difficulty  of  smuggling 
Dawson — and  if  the  old  dame  rung  the  alarm,  the  whole 
hive  would  be  out  in  a moment.” 

After  this  speech,  Job  led  me  from  the  room  by  a door 
at  the  opposite  end,  which  showed  us  a passage  similar 
in  extent  and  fashion  to  the  one  we  had  left  below;  at 
the  very  extremity  of  this  was  the  entrance  to  an  apart- 
ment, at  which  Jonson  stopped. 

“ Here,”  said  he,  taking  from  his  pocket  a small  paper 
book  and  an  ink-horn;  ^‘here,  your  honor,  take  these, 
you  may  want  to  note  the  heads  of  Dawson’s  confession  ; 
we  are  now  at  his  door.”  Job  then  applied  one  of  the 
keys  of  a tolerably  sized  bunch  to  the  door,  and  the  next 
moment  we  were  in  Dawson’s  apartment. 

The  room,  which,  though  low  and  narrow,  was  of  con- 
siderable length,  was  in  utter  darkness,  and  the  dim  and 
flickering  light  which  Jonson  held  only  struggled  with, 
rather  than  penetrated  the  thick  gloom.  About  the  cen- 
25  * 


294 


PELHAM;  OR, 


tre  of  tlie  room  stood  the  bed,  and  sitting  upright  on  it, 
v/ith  a,  wan  and  hollow  countenance,  bent  eagerly  towards 
us,  was  a meagre,  attenuated  figure.  My  recollection  of 
Dawson,  whom,  it  will  be  remembered,  I had  only  seen 
once  before,  was  extremely  faint,  but  it  had  impressed  me 
with  the  idea  of  a middle-sized  and  rather  athletic  man, 
with  a fair  and  florid  complexion  : the  creature  I now 
saw  was  totally  the  reverse  of  this  idea.  His  cheeks 
were  yellow  and  drawn  in  : his  hand,  which  was  raised  in 
the  act  of  holding  aside  the  curtains,  was  like  the  talons 
of  a famished  vulture,  so  thin  was  it,  so  long,  so  withered 
in  its  hue  and  texture. 

No  sooner  did  the  advancing  light  allow  him  to  see  us 
distinctly,  than  he  half  sprung  from  the  bed,  and  cried, 
in  that  peculiar  tone  of  joy  which  seems  to  throw  off 
from  the  breast  a suffocating  weight  of  previous  terror 
and  suspense,  Thank  God,  thank  God  ! it  is  you  at 
last;  and  you  have  brought  the  clergyman  — God  bless 
you,  Jonson  ; you  are  a true  friend  to- me.” 

“Cheer  up,  Dawson,”  said  Job;  “I  have  smuggled 
in  this  worthy  gentleman,  who,  I have  no  doubt,  will  be 
of  great  comjTort  to  you — but  you  must  be  open  with  him, 
and  tell  all.” 

“ That  I will — that  I will,”  cried  Dawson,  with  a wild 
and  rbdictive  expression  of  countenance — “if  it  be  only 
to  hi-^-g  him.  Here,  Jonson,  give  me  your  hand,  bring 
the  1 ^ht  nearer  — I say, — he,  the  devil  — the  fiend  — has 
Deei  here  to-day  and  threatened  to  murder  me  ; and  I 
5^tened,  and  listened,  all  night,  and  thought  I heard 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


295 


his  step  along  the  passage,  and  up  the  stairs,  and  at  the 
door;  but  it  was  nothing,  Job,  nothing  — and  you  are 
come  at  last,  good,  kind,  worthy  Job.  Oh  ! ^tis  so  hor- 
rible to  be  left  in  the  dark,  and  not  sleep  — and  in  this 
large,  large  room,  which  looks  like  eternity  at  night  — 
and  one  does  fancy  such  sights.  Job — such  horrid,  horrid 
sights.  Feel  my  wristband,  Jonson,  and  here  at  my  back, 
you  would  think  they  had  been  pouring  water  over  me, 
but  it’s  only  the  cold  sweat.  Oh!  ’tis  a fearful  thing  to 
have  a bad  conscience.  Job  ; but  you  won’t  leave  me  till 
daylight,  now,  that’s  a dear,  good  Job  ! ” 

For  shame,  Dawson,”  said  Jonson  ; “ pluck  up,  and 
be  a man  ; you  are  like  a baby  frightened  by  its  nurse. 
Here ’s  the  clergyman  come  to  heal  your  poor  wounded 
conscience;  will  you  hear  him  noiy?” 

Yes,”  said  Dawson,  “yes  ! — but  go  out  of  the  room 
— I can’t  tell  all  if  you’re  here;  go.  Job,  go!  — but 
you’re  not  angry  with  me?  — I don’t  mean  to  offend 
you.” 

“Angry!”  said  Job;  “Lord  help  the  poor  fellow!  no, 
to  be  sure  not.  I’ll  stay  outside  the  door  till  you’ve 
done  with  the  clergyman — but  make  haste,  for  the  night’s 
almost  over,  and  it ’s  as  much  as  the  parson’s  life  is  worth 
to  stay  here  after  daybreak.” 

“ I will  make  haste,”  said  the  guilty  man,  tremulously; 
“but  Job,  where  are  you  going  — what  are  you  doing? 
learn  the  light!  here.  Job,  by  the  bedside.” 

Job  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  quitted  the  room,  leav- 
ing the  door  not  so  firmly  shut  but  that  he  might  hear, 
2r 


29G 


PELHAM;  OR, 

if  the  peLiteut  spoke  aloud,  every  particular  of  his  con- 
fession. 

I seated  myself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  taking  the 
skeleton  hand  of  the  unhappy  man,  spoke  to  him  in  the 
most  consolatory  and  comforting  words  I could  summon 
to  my  assistance.  Pie  seemed  greatly  soothed  by  my 
efforts,  and  at  last  implored  me  to  let  him  join  me  in 
prayer.  I knelt  down,  and  my  lips  readily  found  words 
for  that  language,  which,  whatever  be  the  formula  of  our 
faith,  seems,  in  all  emotions  which  come  home  to  cur 
hearts,  the  most  natural  method  of  expressing  them.  It 
is  here,  by  the  bed  of  sickness  or  remorse,  that  the  min- 
isters of  God  have  their  real  power!  it  is  here  that  their 
office  is  indeed  a divine  and  unearthly  mission  ; and  that, 
in  breathing  balm  and  comfort,  in  healing  the  broken 
heart,  in  raising  the  crushed  and  degraded  spirit,  they 
are  the  voice  and  oracle  of  the  FAl'IIER,  who  made  us 
in  benevolence,  and  will  judge  us  in  mercy  I I rose,  and 
after  a short  pause,  Dawson,  who  expressed  himself  im- 
patient for  the  comfort  of  confession,  thus  began  — 

‘‘  I have  no  time,  sir,  to  speak  of  the  earlier  part  of  my 
life.  I passed  it  upon  the  race-course  and  at  the  gaming- 
table— all  that  was,  I know,  very  wrong  and  wicked ; but 
I was  a wild,  idle  boy,  and  eager  for  anything  like  enter- 
prise or  mischief.  Well,  sir,  it  is  now  more  than  three 
years  ago  since  I first  met  with  one  Tom  Thornton  , it 
was  at  a boxing  match.  Tom  was  chosen  chairman,  at  a 
sort  of  club  of  the  farmers  and  yeomen  ; and  being  a 
lively,  amusing  fellow,  and  accustomed  to  the  company 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLE  IM  AN.  297 

of  gentlemen,  was  a great  favorite  with  all  of  us.  He 
was  very  civil  to  me,  and  I was  quite  pleased  with  his 
notice.  I did  not,  however,  see  much  of  him  then,  nor 
for  more  than  two  years  afterwards  ; but  some  months 
ago  we  met  again.  I was  in  very  poor  circumstances,  so 
was  he,  and  this  made  us  closer  friends  than  we  might 
otherwise  have  been.  He  lived  a great  deal  at  the  gambling- 
houses,  and  fancied  he  had  discovered  a certain  method 
of  winning*  at  hazard.  So,  whenever  he  could  not  find 
a gentleman  whom  he  could  cheat  with  false  dice,  tricks 
at  cards,  &c.,  he  would  go  into  any  hell  to  try  his  infalli- 
ble game.  I did  not,  however,  perceive  that  he  made  a 
good  living  by  it : and  though  sometimes,  either  by  that 
method  or  some  other,  he  had  large  sums  of  money  in  his 
possession,  yet  they  were  spent  as  soon  as  acquired.  The 
fact  was,  that  he  was  not  a man  that  could  ever  grow 
rich  ; he  was  extremely  extravagant  in  all  things  — loved 
women  and  drinking,  and  was  always  striving  to  get  into 
the  society  of  people  above  him.  In  order  to  do  this,  he 
affected  great  carelessness  of  money;  and  if,  at  a race  or 
a cock-fight,  any  real  gentlemen  would  go  home  with  him, 
he  would  insist  upon  treating  them  to  the  best  of  every- 
thing. 

Thus,  sir,  he  was  always  poor,  and  at  his  wits’  end 
for  means  to  supply  his  extravagance.  He  introduced 
me  to  three  or  four  gentlemen,  as  he  called  them,  but 
whom  I have  since  found  to  be  markers,  sharpers,  and 
blacklegs  ; and  this  set  soon  dissipated  the  little  honesty 


* A Yery  common  delusion,  both  among  sharpers  and  their  prej. 


PELHAM;  OR, 


my  own  habits  3f  life  had  left  me.  They  never  spoke  of 
things  by  their  right  names ; and,  therefore,  those  things 
never  seemed  so  bad  as  they  really  were  — to  swindle  a 
gentleman  did  not  sound  a crime  when  it  was  called 
* macing  a swell,’ — nor  transportation  a punishment,  when 
it  was  termed,  with  a laugh,  ‘lagging  a cove.’  Thus,  in- 
sensibly, my  ideas  of  riglit  and  wrong,  always  obscure, 
became  perfectly  confused  ; and  the  habit  of  treating  all 
crimes  as  subjects  of  jest  in  familiar  conversation,  soon 
made  me  regard  them  as  matters  of  very  trifling  import- 
ance. 

“Well,  sir,  at  Newmarket  races,  this  Spring  meeting, 
Thornton  and  I were  on  the  look  out.  He  had  come 
down  to  stay,  during  the  races,  at  a house  I had  just  in- 
herited from  my  father,  but  which  was  rather  an  expense 
to  me  than  an  advantage;  especially  as  my  wife,  who  was 
an  innkeeper’s  daughter,  was  very  careless  and  extrava- 
gant. It  so  happened  that  we  were  both  taken  in  by  a 
jockey,  whom  we  had  bribed  very  largely,  and  were  losers 
to  a very  considerable  amount.  Among  other  people,  I 
lost  to  a Sir  John  Tyrrell.  I expressed  my  vexation  to 
Thornton,  who  told  me  not  to  mind  it,  but  to  tell  Sir 
John  that  I would  pay  him  if  he  came  to  the  town  ; and 
that  he  was  quite  sure  we  could  win  enough,  by  his  cer- 
tain game  at  hazard,  to  pay  off  my  debt.  He  was  so 
very  urgent,  that  I allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded  ; 
though  Thornton  has  since  told  me  that  his  only  motive 
was  to  prevent  Sir  John’s  going  to  the  Marquess  of 
Chester’s  fwhere  he  was  invited)  with  my  lord’s  party; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A OENTLEMAN.  299 

and  so  to  have  an  opportunity  of  accomplishing  the  crime 
he  then  meditated. 

‘‘Accordingly,  as  Thornton  desired,  I asked  Sir  John 
Tyrrell  to  come  with  me  to  Newmarket  He  did  so.  I 
left  him,  joined  Thornton,  and  went  to  the  gambling- 
house.  Here  we  were  engaged  in  Thornton’s  sure  game, 
when  Sir  John  entered.  I went  up  and  apologized  for 
not  paying,  and  said  I would  pay  him  in  three  months. 
However,  Sir  John  was  very  angry,  and  treated  me  with 
such  rudeness,  that  the  whole  table  remarked  it.  When 
he  was  gone,  I told  Thornton  how  hurt  and  indignant  I 
was  at  Sir  John’s  treatment.  He  incensed  me  still  more 
— exaggerated  Sir  John’s  conduct  — said  that  I had  suf- 
fered the  grossest  insult ; and  at  last  put  me  into  such  a 
passion,  that  I said  that  if  I was  a gentleman,  I would 
fight  Sir  John  Tyrrell  across  the  table. 

“When  Thornton  saw  I was  so  moved,  he  took  me  out 
of  the  room,  and  carried  me  to  an  inn.  Here  he  ordered 
dinner,  and  several  bottles  of  wine.  I never  could  bear 
much  drink  : he  knew  this,  and  artfully  plied  me  with 
wine  till  I scarcely  knew  what  I did  or  said.  He  then 
talked  much  of  our  destitute  situation  — affected  to  put 
himself  out  of  the  question  — said  he  was  a single  man, 
and  could  easily  make  shift  upon  a potato — but  that  I 
w^as  encumbered  with  a wife  and  child,  whom  I could  not 
suffer  to  starve.  He  then  said,  that  Sir  John  Tyrrell  had 
publicly  disgraced  me  — that  I should  be  blown  upon  the 
course — that  no  gentleman  would  bet  with  me  again,  and 
a great  deal  more  of  the  same  sort.  Seeing  what  an  effect 


300 


PELHAM;  OR, 


he  had  produced  upon  me,  he  then  told  me  that  he  had 
seen  Sir  John  receive  a large  sum  of  money,  which  would 
more  Jhan  pay  our  debts,  and  set  us  up  like  gentlemen, 
and,  at  last,  he  proposed  to  me  to  rob  him.  Intoxicated 
as  I was,  I was  somewhat  startled  at  this  proposition. 
However,  the  slang  terms  in  which  Thornton  disguised 
the  greatness  and  danger  of  the  offence,  very  much  dimin- 
ished both  in  my  eyes  — so  at  length  I consented. 

‘‘We  went  to  Sir  John’s  inn,  and  learnt  that  he  had 
just  set  out : accordingly  we  mounted  our  horses  and 
rode  after  him.  The  night  had  already  closed  in.  After 
we  had  got  some  distance  from  the  main  road,  into  a lane, 
which  led  both  to  my  house  and  to  Chester  Park — for  the 
former  was  on  the  direct  way  to  my  lord’s  — we  passed  a 
man  on  horseback.  I only  observed  that  he  was  wrapped 
in  a cloak  — but  Thornton  said,  directly  we  had  passed 
him,  ‘I  know  that  man  well — he  has  been  following  Tyr- 
rell all  day — and  though  he  attempts  to  screen  himself,  I 
have  penetrated  his  disguise: — he  is  Tyrrell’s  mortal 
enemy.’ 

“ ‘ Should  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,’  added  Thorn- 
ton (words  which  I did  not  at  that  moment  understand), 
‘ we  can  make  him  bear  the  blame.’ 

“When  we  got  some  way  further,  we  came  up  to  Tyr- 
rell and  a gentleman  whom,  to  our  great  dismay,  we  found 
that  Sir  John  had  joined — the  gentleman’s  horse  had  met 
with  an  accident,  and  Thornton  dismounted  to  offer  his 
assistance.  He  assured  the  gentleman,  who  proved  after- 
wards to  be  a Mr  Pelham,  that  the  horse  was  quite  lame 


ADVENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN.  301 

and  that  he  would  scarcely  be  able  to  get  it  home  ; and 
he  then  proposed  to  Sir  John  to  accompany  us,  and  said 
that  we  would  put  him  in  the  right  road  ; this  offer  Sir 
John  rejected  very  haughtily,  and  we  rode  on. 

‘It's  all  up  with  us,’^  said  I;  ‘since  he  has  joined 
another  person.’ 

“‘Not  at  all,’ replied  Thornton;  ‘fori  managed  to 
give  the  horse  a sly  poke  with  my  knife  ; and  if  I know 
anything  of  Sir  John  Tyrrell,  he  is  much  too  impatient  a 
spark  to  crawl  along  a snail’s  pace  with  any  companion, 
especially  with  this  heavy  shower  coming  on.’ 

“ ‘But,’  said  I,  for  I now  began  to  recover  from  my 
intoxication,  and  to  be  sensible  of  the  nature  of  our  un- 
dertaking, ‘the  moon  is  up,  and  unless  this  shower  con- 
ceals it,  Sir  John  will  recognize  us;  so  you  see,  even  if 
he  leave  the  gentleman,  it  will  be  no  use,  and-we  had 
better  make  haste  home  and  go  to  bed.’ 

“Upon  this,  Thornton  cursed  me  for  a faint-hearted 
fellow,  and  said  that  the  cloud  would  effectually  hide  the 
moon  — or,  if  not — he  added — ‘I  know  how  to  silence  a 
prating  tongue.’  At  these  words  I was  greatly  alarmed, 
and  said,  that  if  he  meditated  murder  as  well  as  robbery, 
I would  have  nothing  farther  to  do  with  it.  Thornton 
laughed,  and  told  me  not  to  be  a fool.  While  we  were 
thus  debating,  a heavy  shower  came  on  ; we  rode  hastily 
to  a large  tree  by  the  side  of  a pond,  which,  though  Dare 
and  withered,  was  the  nearest  shelter  the  country  afforded, 
and  was  only  a very  short  distance  from  my  house.  I 
wished  to  go  home,  but  Thornton  would  not  let  me  ; and 
II.  -26 


302 


PELHAM;  OR, 


as  I was  always  in  the  habit  of  yielding,  I remained  with 
him,  though  very  reluctantly,  under  the  tree. 

“ Presently,  we  heard  the  trampling  of  a horse. 

“‘It  is  he  — it  is  he,’  cried  Thornton,  with  a savage 
tone  of  exultation,  ‘and  alone! — Be  ready  — we  must 
make  a rush  — I will  be  the  one  to  bid  him  to  deliver  — 
you  hold  your  tongue.’ 

“ The  clouds  and  rain  had  so  overcast  the  night,  that, 
although  it  was  not  perfectly  dark,  it  was  sufficiently 
obscure  to  screen  our  countenances.  Just  as  Tyrrell 
approached  Thornton  dashed  forward,  and  cried,  in  a 
feigned  voice — ‘Stand,  on  your  peril  1’  I followed,  and 
we  were  now  both  by  Sir  John’s  side. 

“He  attempted  to  push  by  us  — but  Thornton  seized 
him  by  the  arm  — there  was  a stout  struggle,  in  which  as 
yet  I had  no  share ; at  last,  Tyrrell  got  loose  from  Thorn- 
ton, and  I seized  him  — he  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  which 
was  a very  spirited  and  strong  animal — it  reared  upwards 
and  very  nearly  brought  me  and  my  horse  to  the  ground 
— at  that  instant,  Thornton  struck  the  unfortunate  man  a 
violent  blow  across  the  head  with  the  butt-end  of  his 
heavy  whip  — Sir  John’s  hat  had  fallen  before  in  the 
struggle,  and  the  blow  was  so  stunning  that  it  felled  him 
upon  the  spot.  Thornton  dismounted,  and  made  me  dj 
the  same  — ‘There  is  no  time  to  lose,’  said  he:  ‘let  us 
drag  him  from  the  roadside,  and  rifle  him.’  We  accord- 
ingly carried  him  (he  was  still  senseless)  to  the  side  of 
the  pond  before  mentioned.  While  we  were  searcning 
for  the  money  Thornton  spoke  of,  the  storm  ceased  and 


ADVENTURES  OE  A GENTLEMAN. 


303 


the  moon  broke  out  — we  were  detained  some  moments 
by  the  accident  of  Tyrrell’s  having  transferred  his  pocket- 
book  frum  the  pocket  Thornton  had  seen  him  put  it  in 
on  the  race-ground  to  an  inner  one. 

“We  had  just  discovered  and  seized  the  pocket-book, 
when  Sir  John  awoke  from  his  swoon,  and  his  eyes  opened 
upon  Thornton,  who  was  still  bending  over  him,  and  look- 
ing at  the  contents  of  the  book  to  see  that  all  was  right ; 
the  moonlight  left  Tyrrell  in  no  doubt  as  to  our  persons ; 
and  struggling  hard  to  get  up,  he  cried,  ‘ I know  you  ! I 
know  you  ! you  shall  hang  for  this.’  No  sooner  had  he 
uttered  this  imprudence,  than  it  was  all  over  with  him. 
‘We  will  see  that.  Sir  John,’  said  Thornton,  setting  his 
knee  upon  Tyrrell’s  chest,  and  nailing  him  down.  While 
thus  employed,  he  told  me  to  feel  in  his  coat-pocket  for  a 
case-knife. 

“ ‘For  God’s  sake,’  cried  Tyrrell,  with  a tone  of  ago- 
nizing terror  which  haunts  me  still,  ‘spare  my  life  ! ’ 

“ ‘ It  is  too  late,’  said  Thornton,  deliberately,  and  tak- 
ing the  knife  from  my  hands,  he  plunged  it  into  Sir  John’s 
side,  and  as  the  blade  was  too  short  to  reach  the  vitals, 
Thornton  drew  it  backwards  and  forwards  to  widen  the 
wound.  Tyrrell  was  a strong  man,  and  still  continued  to 
struggle  and  call  out  for  mercy — Thornton  drew  out  the 
knife — Tyrrell  seized  it  by  the  blade,  and  his  fingers  were 
cut  through  before  Thornton  could  snatch  it  from  his 
grasp  ; the  wretched  gentleman  then  saw  all  hope  was 
^ver  ; he  uttered  one  loud,  sharp  cry  of  despair.  Thoriu 


d04 


PELHAM;  OR, 


ton  put  one  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  with  the  other  flashed 
his  throat  from  ear  to  ear 

“ ‘ You  have  done  for  him  and  for  us  now,’  said  I,  as 
Thornton  slowly  rose  from  the  body.  ‘No,’  replied  he, 
‘look,  he  still  moves  ; ’ and  sure  enough  he  did,  but  it  was 
in  the  last  agony.  However,  Thornton,  to  make  all  sure, 
plunged  the  knife  again  into  his  body  : the  blade  came  in 
contact  with  a bone,  and  snapped  in  two  : so  great  was 
the  violence  of  the  blow,  that,  instead  of  remaining  in  the 
flesh,  the  broken  piece  fell  upon  the  ground  among  the 
long  fern  and  grass. 

“ While  we  were  employed  in  searching  for  it,  Thorn- 
ton, whose  ears  were  much  sharper  than  mine,  caught  the 
sound  of  a horse.  ‘ Mount ! mount ! ’ he  cried,  ‘ and  let  us 
be  off  1 ’ We  sprung  upon  our  horses,  and  rode  away  as 
fast  as  we  could.  I wished  to  go  home,  as  it  was  so  near 
at  hand  ; but  Thornton  insisted  on  making  to  an  old  shed, 
about  a quarter  of  a mile  across  the  fields  : thither,  there- 
fore, we  went."’ 

“ Stop,”  said  I ; “ what  did  Thornton  do  with  the  re- 
maining part  of  the  case-knife  ? Did  he  throw  it  away, 
or  carry  it  with  him  ? ” 

“ He  took  it  with  him,”  answered  Dawson,  “ for  his 
name  was  engraved  on  a silver  plate  on  the  handle  ; and 
he  was  therefore  afraid  of  throwing  it  into'  the  pond,  as  I 
advised,  lest  at  any  time  it  should  be  discovered.  Close 
by  the  shed  there  is  a plantation  of  young  firs  of  some 
extent : Thornton  and  I entered,  and  he  dug  a holv?  with 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


305 


the  broken  blade  of  the  knife,  and  buried  it,  covering  up 
the  hole  again  with  the  earth  ^ 

“ Describe  the  place,”  said  I.  Dawson  paused,  and 
seemed  to  recollect.  I was  on  the  very  tenterhooks  of 
suspense,  for  I saw  with  one  glance  all  the  importance 
of  his  reply. 

After  some  moments,  he  shook  his  head  : ‘‘I  cannot 
describe  the  place,”  said  he,  ‘‘for  the  wood  is  so  thick  ; 
yet  I know  the  exact  spot  so  well,  that,  were  I in  any 
part  of  the  plantation,  I could  point  it  out  immediately.” 

I told  him  to  pause  again,  and  recollect  himself;  and 
at  all  events,  to  try  to  indicate  the  place.  However,  his 
account  was  so  confused  and  perplexed,  that  I was  forced 
to  give  up  the  point  in  despair,  and  he  continued. 

“After  we  had  done  this,  Thornton  told  me  to  hold  the 
horses,  and  said  he  would  go  alone,  to  spy  whether  we 
might  return  ; accordingly  he  did  so,  and  brought  back 
word,  in  about  half  an  hour,  that  he  had  crept  cautiously 
along  till  in  sight  of  the  place,  and  then,  throwing  him- 
self down  on  his  face  by  the  ridge  of  a bank,  had  observed 
a man  (who  he  was  sure  was  the  person  with  a cloak  we 
had  passed,  and  who,  he  said,  was  Sir  Reginald  Glanville) 
mount  his  horse  on  the  very  spot  of  the  murder,  and  ride 
off,  while  another  person  (Mr.  Pelham)  appeared,  and  also 
discovered  the  fatal  place. 

“ ‘ There  is  no  doubt  now,’  said  he,  ‘that  we  shall  have 
the  hue-and-cry  upon  us.  However,  if  you  are  staunch 
and  stout-hearted,  no  possible  danger  can  come  to  us ; 

2G* 


306 


PELHAM;  OR, 


for  yon  may  leave  me  alone  to  throw  the  whole  guilt  upon 
Sir  Reginald  (Tlanville.^ 

^‘We  then  mounted,  and  rode  home.  We  stole  up 
stairs  by  the  back  way.  Thornton’s  linen  and  hands 
were  stained  with  blood.  The  former  he  took  off,  locked 
up  carefully,  and  burnt  the  first  opportunity  : the  latter 
he  washed  ; and,  that  the  water  might  not  lead  to  detec- 
tion, di'ank  it.  We  then  appeared  as  if  nothing  had  oc- 
curred, and  learnt  that  Mr.  Pelham  had  been  to  the  house ; 
but  as,  very  fortunately,  our  out-buildings  had  been  lately 
robbed  by  some  idle  people,  my  wife  and  servants  had 
refused  to  admit  him.  I was  thrown  into  great  agitation, 
and  was  extremely  frightened.  However,  as  Mr.  Pel- 
ham had  left  a message  that  we  were  to  go  to  the  pond, 
Thornton  insisted  upon  our  repairing  there  to  avoid  sus- 
picion.” 

Dawson  then  proceeded  to  say  that,  on  their  return, 
as  he  was  still  exceedingly  nervous,  Thornton  insisted  on 
his  going  to  bed.  When  our  party  from  Lord  Chester’s 
came  to  the  house,  Thornton  went  into  Dawson’s  room, 
and  made  him  swallow  a large  tumbler  of  brandy;*  this 
intoxicated  him  so  as  to  make  him  less  sensible  to  his 
dangerous  situation.  Afterwards,  when  the  picture  was 
found,  which  circumstance  Thornton  communicated  to 
him,  along  with  that  of  the  threatening  letter  sent  by 
Glanviile  to  the  deceased,  which  was  discovered  in  Tyr- 
rell’s pocket-book,  Dawson  recovered  courage,  and  jus- 

* A common  practice  with  thieves  who  fear  the  weaK  nerves  of 
their  accomplices. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  301 

tice  bein^  entirely  thrown  on  a wrong  scent,  he  managed 
to  pass  his  examination  without  suspicion.  He  then  went 
to  town  with  Thornton,  and  constantly  attended  “ the 
club”  to  which  Jonson  had  before  introduced  him  ; at 
first,  among  his  new  comrades,  and  while  the  novel  flush 
of  the  money  he  had  so  fearfully  acquired  lasted,  he  par- 
tially succeeded  in  stifling  his  remorse.  But  the  success 
of  crime  is  too  contrary  to  nature  to  continue  long ; his 
poor  wife,  whom,  in  spite  of  her  extravagant  and  his 
dissolute  habits,  he  seemed  really  to  love,  fell  ill  and  died  ; 
on  her  death-bed  she  revealed  the  suspicions  she  had 
formed  of  his  crime,  and  said  that  those  suspicions  had 
preyed  upon  and  finally  destroyed  her  health  : this  awoke 
him  from  the  guilty  torpor  of  his  conscience.  His  share 
of  the  money,  too,  the  greater  part  of  which  Thornton 
had  bullied  out  of  him,  was  gone.  He  fell,  as  Job  had 
said,  into  despondency  and  gloom,  and  often  spoke  to 
Thornton  so  forcibly  of  his  remorse,  and  so  earnestly  of 
his  gnawing  and  restless  desire  to  appease  his  mind  by 
surrendering  himself  to  justice,  that  the  fears  of  that  vil- 
lain grew  at  length  so  thoroughly  alarmed,  as  to  procure 
his  removal  to  his  present  abode. 

It  was  here  that  his  real  punishment  commenced  : 
closely  confined  to  his  apartment,  at  the  remotest  corner 
of  the  house,  his  solitude  was  never  broken  but  by  the 
short  and  hurried  visits  of  his  female  gaoler,  and  (worse 
even  than  loneliness)  the  occasional  invasions  of  Thorn- 
ion.  There  appeared  to  be  in  that  abandoned  wretch, 
what,  for  the  honor  of  human  nature,  is  but  rarely  found, 


308 


PELHAM;  OR 


viz  a love  of  sin,  not  for  its  objects,  but  itself.  With  a 
malignity,  doubly  fiendish  from  its  inutility,  he  forbade 
Dawson  the  only  indulgence  he  craved  — a light  during 
the  dark  hours  ; and  not  only  insulted  him  for  his 
cowardice,  but  even  added  to  his  terrors  by  threats  of 
effectually  silencing  them. 

These  fears  had  so  wildly  worked  upon  the  man’s  mind, 
that  prison  itself  appeared  to  him  an  elysium  to  the  hell 
he  endured  : and  when  his  confession  was  ended,  and  I 
said,  If  you  can  be  freed  from  this  place,  would  you 
repeat  before  a magistrate  all  that  you  have  now  told 
me?”  he  started  up  in  delight  at  the  very  thought.  In 
truth,  besides  his  remorse,  and  that  inward  and  impelling 
voice  which,  in  all  the  annals  of  murder,  seems  to  urge 
the  criminal  onwards  to  the  last  expiation  of  his  guilt  — 
besides  these,  there  mingled  in  his  mind  a sentiment  of 
bitter,  yet  cowardly,  vengeance,  against  his  inhuman  ac- 
complice ; and  perhaps  he  found  consolation  for  his  own 
fate,  in  the  hope  of  wreaking  upon  Thornton’s  head  some- 
what of  the  tortures  that  ruffian  had  inflicted  upon  him. 

I had  taken  down  in  my  book  the  heads  of  the  confes- 
sion, and  I now  hastened  to  Jonson,  who,  waiting  with- 
out the  door,  had  (as  I had  anticipated)  heard  all. 

“You  see,”  said  I,  “that,  however  satisfactory  this 
recital  has  been,  it  contains  no  secondary  or  innate  proofs 
to  confirm  it ; the  only  evidence  with  which  it  could  fur- 
nish us,  would  be  the  remnant  of  the  broken  knife,  en- 
graved with  Thornton’s  name  ; but  you  have  heard  from 
Dawson’s  account,  how  impossible  it  would  be  in  an  ex- 


AT)  VENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


309 


tensive  wood,  for  any  one  to  discover  the  spot  but  himself. 
You  will  agree  with  me,  therefore,  that  we  must  not  leave 
this  house  witliout  Dawson.’^ 

Job  changed  color  slightly. 

I see  as  clearly  as  you  do,’’  said  he,  “that  it  will  be 
necessary  for  my  annuity,  and  your  friend’s  full  acquittal, 
to  procure  Dawson’s  personal  evidence,  but  it  is  late  now; 
the  men  may  be  still  drinking  below  ; Be^ss  may  be  still 
awake  and  stirring  ; even  if  she  sleeps,  how  could  we  pass 
her  room  without  disturbing  her  ? I own  that  I do  not 
see  a chance  of  effecting  his  escape  to-night,  without  in- 
curring the  most  probable  peril  of  having  our  throats 
cut.  Leave  it,  therefore,  to  me  to  procure  his  release  as 
soon  as  possible  — probably  to-morrow,  and  let  us  now 
quietly  retire,  content  with  what  we  have  yet  got.” 

Hitherto  I had  implicitly  obeyed  Job  : it  v/as  now  mij 
turn  to  command  “ Look  you,”  said  I,  calmly  but  sternly 
“ I have  come  into  this  house  under  your  guidance,  solely 
to  procure  the  evidence  of  that  man  ; the  evidence  he 
has,  as  yet,  given,  may  not  be  worth  a straw  ; and,  since 
I have  ventured  among  the  knives  of  your  associates,  it 
shall  be  for  some  purpose.  I tell  you  fairly  that,  whether 
you  befriend  or  betray  me,  I will  either  leave  these  walls 
with  Dawson  or  remain  in  them  a corpse.” 

“You  are  a bold  blade,  sir,”  said  Jonson,  who  seemed 
rather  to  respect  than  resent  the  determination  of  my 
tone,  “ and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  ; wait  here,  your 
honor,  while  I go  down  to  see  if  the  boys  are  gone  to  bed, 
ard  the  coast  is  clear.” 


310 


PELHAM;  OR 


Job  descended,  and  I re-entered  Dawson’s  room.  When 
I told  him  that  we  were  resolved,  if  possible,  to  effect  his 
escape,  nothing  could  exceed  his  transport  and  gratitude  ; 
this  was,  indeed,  expressed  in  so  mean  and  servile  a man- 
ner, mixed  with  so  many  petty  threats  of  vengeance  against 
Thornton,  that  I could  scarcely  conceal  my  disgust. 

Jonson  returned,  and  beckoned  me  out  of  the  room. 

“They  are  all  in  bed,  sir,”  said  he  — “ Bess  as  well  as 
the  rest ; indeed,  the  old  girl  has  lushed  so  well  at  the 
bingo,  that  she  sleeps  as  if  her  next  morrow  was  the  day 
of  judgment.  I have,  also,  seen  that  the  street-door  is 
still  unbarred,  so  that,  upon  the  whole,  we  have,  perhaps, 
as  good  a chance  to-night  as  we  may  ever  have  again. 
All  my  fear  is  about  that  cowardly  lubber.  I have  left 
both  Bess’s  doors  wide  open,  so  we  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  creep  through  ; as  for  me,  I am  an  old  file,  and 
could  steal  my  way  through  a sick  man’s  room,  like  a 
sunbeam  through  a key-hole.” 

“ Well,”  said  I,  in  the  same  strain,  “ I am  no  elephant, 
and  ray  dancing-master  used  to  tell  me  I might  tread  on 
a butterfly’s  wing  without  brushing  off  a tint : (poor 
Coulon  ! he  little  thought  of  the  use  his  lessons  would 
be  to  me  hereafter  !) — so  let  us  be  quick,  Master  Job.” 

“ Stop,”  said  Jonson  ; “ I have  yet  a ceremony  to  per- 
form with  our  caged  bird.  I must  put  a fresh  gag  on  his 
mouth  ; for  though,  if  he  escapes,  I must  leave  England, 
perhaps  for  ever,  for  fear  of  the  jolly  boys,  and,  therefore, 
care  not  what  he  blabs  about  me  ; yet  there  are  a few  fine 
fellows  amongst  the  club,  whom  I would  not  have  hurt 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


311 


for  the  Indies  ; so  I shall  make  Master  Dawson  take  our 
last  oath  — the  Devil  himself  would  not  break  that,  I 
think  ! Your  honor  will  stay  outside  the  door,  for  we 
can  have  no  witness  while  it  is  administered.’’ 

Job  then  entered  ; I stood  without ; — in  a few  mir  ites 
I heard  Dawson’s  voice  in  the  accents  of  supplication. 
Soon  after  Job  returned.  “ The  craven  dog  won’t  take 
the  oath,”  said  he,  “ and  may  my  right  hand  rot  above 
ground  before  it  shall  turn  key  for  him  unless  he  does.” 
But  when  Dawson  saw  that  Job  had  left  the  room  and 
withdrawn  the  light,  the  conscience-stricken  coward  came 
to  the  door,  and  implored  Job  to  return.  “Will  you 
swear,  then?”  said  Jonson  ; “I  will,  I will,”  was  the 
answer. 

Job  then  re-entered  — minutes  passed  away  — Job  re- 
appeared, and  Dawson  was  dressed,  and  clinging  hold  of 
him  — “All ’s  right ! ” said  he  to  me,  with  a satisfied  air. 

The  oath  had  been  taken  — what  it  was  I know  not  — 
but  it  was  never  broken."^ 

Dawson  and  Job  went  first  — I followed  — w^e  passed 
the  passage,  and  came  to  the  chamber  of  the  sleeping 
Mrs.  Brimstone.  Job  bent  eagerly  forward  to  listen,  be- 
fore we  entered  ; he  took  hold  of  Dawson’s  arm,  and 
beckoning  to  me  to  follow,  stole,  with  a step  that  the 
blind  mole  would  not  have  heard,  across  the  room.  Care- 
fully did  the  practised  thief  veil  the  candle  he  carried 
with  his  hand,  as  he  now  began  to  pass  by  the  bed.  I 

* Those  conversant  with  the  annals  of  Newgate  well  know  how 
religiously  the  oaths  of  these  fearful  Freemasonries  are  kept. 

2s 


312 


PELHAM;  OR. 


saw  that  Dawson  trembled  like  a leaf,  and  the  palpitation 
of  his  limbs  made  his  step  audible  and  heavy.  Just  as 
they  had  half-way  passed  the  bed,  I turned  my  look  on 
Brimstone  Bess,  and  observed,  with  a shuddering  thrill, 
her  eyes  slowly  open,  and  fix  upon  the  forms  of  my  com- 
panions. Dawson’s  gaze  had  been  bent  in  the  same  di- 
rection, and  when  he  met  the  full,  glassy  stare  of  the 
beldame’s  eyes,  he  uttered  a faint  scream.  This  com- 
pleted our  danger : had  it  not'been  for  that  exclamation, 
Bess  might,  in  the  uncertain  vision  of  drowsiness,  have 
passed  over  the  third  person,  and  fancied  it  was  only  myself 
and  Jonson,  in  our  way  from  Dawson’s  apartment;  but  no 
sooner  had  her  ear  caught  the  sound,  than  she  started  up, 
and  sat  erect  on  her  bed,  gazing  at  us  in  mingled  wrath 
and  astonishment. 

That  was  a fearful  moment  — we  stood  riveted  to  the 
spot ! “ Oh,  my  kiddies,”  cried  Bess,  at  last  finding 
speech,  “you  are  in  Queer-street,  I trow!  Plant  your 
stumps,  Master  Guinea  Pig;  you  are  going  to  stall  off 
the  Daw’s  baby  in  prime  twig,  eh  ? But  Bess  stags  you, 
my  cove  ! Bess  stags  you.”* 

Jonson  looked  irresolute  for  one  instant,  but  the  next 
he  had  decided.  “ Bun,  run,”  crjed  he,  “for  your  lives  ;” 
and  he  and  Dawson  (to  whom  fear  did  indeed  lend  wings) 
were  out  of  the  room  in  an  instant.  I lost  no  time  in 
following  their  example  ; but  the  vigilant  and  incensed 
hag  was  too  quick  for  me;  she  pulled  violently  the  bell. 

* “Halt,  — IMaster  Guinea  Pig,  you  are  going  to  steal  Dawson 
away,  eh  ? But  Bess  sees  you,  my  man,  Bess  sees  you  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


313 


on  which  she  had  already  placed  her  hand  : the  alarm 
rang  like  an  echo  in  a cavern  ; below  — around  — far  — 
near — from  wall  to  wall — from  chamber  to  chamber,  the 
sound  seemed  multiplied  and  repeated  1 and  in  the  same 
breathing  point  of  time  she  sprang  from  her  bed  and 
seized  me,  just  as  I had  reached  the  door. 

**  On,  on,  on,’’  cried  Jonson’s  voice  to  Dawson,  as  they 
had  already  gained  the  passage,  and  left  the  whole  room, 
and  the  staircase  beyond,  in  utter  darkness. 

With  a firm,  muscular,  nervous  gripe,  which  almost 
showed  a masculine  strength,  the  hag  clung  to  my  throat 
and  breast , behind,  among  some  of  the  numerous  rooms 
in  the  passage  we  had  left,  I heard  sounds  which  told  too 
plainly  how  rapidly  the  alarm  had  spread.  A door  opened 
— steps  approached — my  fate  seemed  fixed  ; but  despair 
gave  me  energy:  it  was  no  time  for  the  ceremonials  due 
to  the  heau  sexe,  I dashed  Bess  to  the  ground,  tore  my- 
self from  her  relaxing  grasp,  and  fled  down  the  steps  with 
all  the  precipitation  the  darkness  would  allow.  I gained 
the  passage,  at  the  far  end  of  which  hung  the  lamp,  now  weak 
and  waning  in  its  socket,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  burnt 
close  by  the  sick  man’s  chamber  that  I had  so  unintention- 
alfy  entered.  A thought  flashed  upon  my  mind,  and  lent 
me  new  nerves  and  fresh  speed  ; I flew  along  the  passage, 
guided  by  the  dying  light.  The  staircase  I had  left  shook 
with  the  footsteps  of  my  pursuers.  I was  at  the  door  of 
the  sick  thief  — 1 burst  it  open  — seized  the  sword  as  it 
lay  within  reach  on  the  chair,  where  Jonson  had  |)laced 
it  and  feeling,  at  the  touch  of  the  familiar  weapon,  as 
11. —2t 


PELHAM;  OR, 


3U 

if  the  might  of  ten  men  had  been  transferred  to  my  single 
arm,  I bounded  down  the  stairs  before  me  — passed  the 
door  at  the  bottom,  which  Dawson  had  fortunately  left 
open — flung  it  back  almost  upon  the  face  of  my  advancing 
enemies,  and  found  myself  in  the  long  passage  which  led 
to  the  street-door,  in  safety,  but  in  the  thickest  darkness 
A light  flashed  from  a door  to  the  left;  the  door  was  that 
of  the  “ Common  room’’  which  we  had  first  entered  ; it 
opened,  and  Spider-shanks,  with  one  of  his  comrades, 
looked  forth,  the  former  holding  a light.  I darted  by 
them,  and,  guided  by  their  lamp,  fled  along  the  passage, 
and  reached  the  door.  Imagine  my  dismay — when,  either 
through  accident,  or  by  the  desire  of  my  fugitive  compan- 
ions to  impede  pursuit,  I found  it  unexpectedly  closed  ! 

The  two  villains  had  now  come  up  to  me  ; close  at 
their  heels  were  two  more,  probably  my  pursuers  from 
the  upper  apartments.  Providentially  the  passage  was, 
(as  I before  said)  extremely  narrow,  and  as  long  as  no 
fire-arms  were  used,  nor  a general  rush  resorted  to,  I had 
little  doubt  of  being  able  to  keep  the  ruffians  at  bay,  until 
I had  hit  upon  the  method  of  springing  the  latch,  and  so 
winning  my  escape  from  the  house. 

While  my  left  hand  was  employed  in  feeling  the  latch, 
I made  such  good  use  of  my  right,  as  to  keep  my  antag- 
onists at  a safe  distance.  The  one  who  was  nearest  to 
me  was  Fib  Fakescrew  ; he  was  armed  with  a weapon 
exactly  similar  to  my  own.  The  whole  passage  rung 
with  oaths  and  threats.  Crash  the  cull  — down  with 
Him  — down  with  him  before  he  dubs  the  jigger.  Tip 


AJ)  VENTURES  OP  A GENTLEMAN  c^l5 

him  the  degan,  Fib,  fake  him  through  and  through  ; if 
he  pikes,  we  shall  all  be  scragged.’’* 

Hitherto,  in  the  confusion,  I had  not  been  able  to  re- 
call Job’s  instructions  in  opening  the  latch  ; at  last  I re- 
membered, and  pressed  the  screw  — the  latch  rose  — I 
opened  the  door,  but  not  wide  enough  to  escape  through 
the  aperture.  The  ruffians  saw  my  escape  at  hand. 

**  Kush  the  b cove  ! rush  him  ! ” cried  the  loud  voire 

of  one  behind  ; and,  at  the  word.  Fib  was  thrown  for- 
wards upon  the  extended  edge  of  my  blade  ; scarcely  with 
an  effort  of  my  own  arm  the  sword  entered  his  bosom, 
and  he  fell  at  my  feet  bathed  in  blood  ; the  motion  which 
the  men  thought  would  prove  ray  destruction,  became  my 
salvation  ; staggered  by  the  fall  of  their  companion,  they 
gave  way : I seized  advantage  of  the  momentary  confu- 
sion, threw  open  the  door,  and,  mindful  of  Job’s  admo- 
nition, turned  to  the  right,  and  fled  onwards  with  a rapid- 
ity which  baffled  and  mocked  pursuit. 

* “Kill  the  fellow,  down  with  him  before  he  opens  the  door 
Stab  him  through  and  through ; if  he  gets  off  we  shall  all  be 
hanged.” 


81 G 


PELHAM;  OB, 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

Tile  viam  secat  ad  naves  sociosque  revisit.  — Virgil. 

The  day  had  already  dawned,  but  all  was  still  and 
nlent ; my  footsteps  smote  the  solitary  pavement  with  a 
itrange  and  unanswered  sound.  Nevertheless,  though  all 
pursuit  had  long  ceased,  I still  continued  to  run  on  me- 
chanically, till,  faint  and  breathless,  I was  forced  to  pause. 
[ looked  round,  but  could  recognize  nothing  familiar  in 
die  narrow  and  filthy  streets  ; even  the  names  of  them 
were  to  me  like  an  unknown  language.  After  a brief 
rest  I renewed  my  wanderings,  and  at  length  came  to  an 
alley  called  River  Lane  ; the  name  did  not  deceive  me^ 
but  brought  me,  after  a short  walk,  to  the  Thames ; there, 
to  my  inexpressible  joy,  I discovered  a solitary  boatman, 
and  transported  myself  forthwith  to  the  Whitehall-stairs. 

Never,  I ween,  did  gay  gallant,  in  the  decaying  part 
)f  the  season,  arrive  at  those  stairs  for  the  sweet  purpose 
of  accompanying  his  own  mistress,  or  another’s  wife,  to 
jreen  Richmond  or  sunny  Hampton,  with  more  eager 
and  animated  delight  than  I felt  when  rejecting  the  arm 
of  the  rough  boatman,  and  leaping  on  the  well-known 
stones.  I hastened  to  that  stand  of  ‘‘jarvies”  which  has 
often  been  the  hope  and  shelter  of  belated  member  of 


AD^VENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  317 


St.  Stephen’s,  or  bewetted  fugitive  from  the  Opera — - 
startled  a sleeping  coachman  — flung  myself  into  his  ve- 
hicle,— and  descended  at  Mivart’s. 

The  drowsy  porter  surveyed,  and  told  me  to  be  gone  ; 
I had  forgotten,  till  then,  my  strange  attire.  Pooh,  my 
friend,”  said  I,  “may  not  Mr.  Pelham  go  to  a masquerade 
as  well  as  his  betters  ? ” My  voice  and  words  undeceived 
my  Cerberus,  and  I was  admitted  ; I hastened  to  bed,  and 
no  sooner  had  I laid  my  head  on  my  pillow,  than  I fell 
fast  asleep.  It  must  be  confessed,  that  I had  deserved 
“tired  Nature’s  sweet  restorer.” 

I had  not  been  above  a couple  of  hours  in  the  land  of 
dreams,  when  I was  awakened  by  some  one  grasping  my 
arm  : the  events  of  the  past  night  were  so  fresh  in  my 
memory,  that  I sprung  up,  as  if  the  knife  was  at  my  throat 
— my  eyes  opened  upon  the  peaceful  countenance  of  Mr. 
Job  Jonson. 

“ Thank  Heaven,  sir,  you  are  safe  I I had  but  a very 
faint  hope  of  finding  you  here  when  I came.” 

“Why,”  said  I,  rubbing  my  eyes,  “it  is  very  true  that 
I am  safe,  honest  Job  : but,  I believe,  I have  few  thanks 
to  give  you  for  a circumstance  so  peculiarly  agreeable  to 
myself.  It  would  have  saved  me  much  trouble,  and  your 
worthy  friend,  Mr.  Fib  Fakescrew,  some  pain,  if  you  had 
left  the  door  open — instead  of  shutting  me  up  with  your 
club,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it ! ” 

“ Yery  true,  sir,”  said  Job,  “ and  I am  extremely  sorry 
at  the  accident;  it  was  Dawson  who  shut  the  door, 
through  utter  unconsciousness,  though  I told  him  espe- 
27* 


318 


PELHAM;  OR, 


dally  not  to  do  it  — the  poor  dog  did  not  know  whether 
he  was  on  his  head  or  his  heels.” 

You  have  got  him  safe,”  said  I,  quickly. 

'‘Ay,  trust  me  for  that,  your  honor.  I have  locked 
him  up  at  home  while  I came  here  to  look  for  you.” 

“ We  will  lose  no  time  in  transferring  him  to  safer  cus- 
tody,” said  I,  leaping  out  of  bed;  “but  be  off  to 

Street  directly.” 

“Slow  and  sure,  sir,”  answered  Jonson.  “It  is  foi 
you  to  do  whatever  you  please,  but  my  part  of  the  busi- 
ness is  over.  I shall  sleep  at  Dover  to-night,  and  break- 
fast at  Calais  to-morrow.  Perhaps  it  will  not  be  very 
inconrenient  to  your  honor  to  furnish  me  with  my  first 
quarter’s  annuity  in  advance,  and  to  see  that  the  rest  is 
duly  paid  into  Lafitte’s,  at  Paris,  for  the  use  of  Captain 
de  Courcy.  Where  I shall  live  hereafter  is  at  present 
uncertain  ; but  I dare  say  there  will  be  few  corners  except 
old  England  and  new  England  in  which  I shall  not  make 
merry  on  your  honor’s  bounty.” 

“Pooh  ! my  good  fellow,”  rejoined  I,  “never  desert  a 
country  to  which  your  talents  do  such  credit ; stay  here, 
and  reform  on  your  annuity.  If  ever  I can  accomplish 
my  own  wishes,  I will  consult  yours  still  farther ; for  I 
shall  always  think  of  your  services  with  gratitude,  — > 
though  you  did  shut  the  door  in  my  face.” 

“No,  sir,”  replied  Job  — “life  is  a blessing  I would 
fain  enjoy  a few  years  longer;  and,  at  present,  my  sojourn 
in  England  would  put  it  wofully  in  danger  of  ‘ club  law.' 
Besides,  I begin  to  think  that  a good  character  is  a very 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  3lVi 

agreeable  thing,  when  not  too  troublesome  : and,  as  1 
have  none  left  in  England,  I may  as  well  make  the  expe- 
riment abroad.  If  your  honor  will  call  at  the  magis- 
trate’s, and  take  a warrant  and  an  officer,  for  the  purpose 
of  ridding  me  of  my  charge,  at  the  very  instant  I see  my 
responsibility  at  an  end,  I wdll  have  the  honor  of  bidding 
you  adieu.” 

Wellj  as  you  please,”  said  1.  — Curse  your  scoun- 
drel’s cosmetics  I How  the  deuce  am  I ever  to  regain 
my  natural  complexion  ! Look  ye,  sirrah  ! you  have 
painted  me  with  a long  wrinkle  on  the  left  side  of  my 
mouth,  big  enough  to  engulf  all  the  beauty  I ever  had. 
Why,  water  seems  to  have  no  effect  upon  it ! 

To  be  sure  not,  sir,”  said  Job,  calmly — I should  be 
but  a poor  dauber,  if  my  paints  washed  off  with  a wet 
sponge.” 

Grant  me  patience  I ” cried  I,  in  a real  panic  : ‘‘  how, 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  are  they  to  wash  off!  Am  I, 
before  I have  reached  my  twenty-third  year,  to  look  like 
a methodist  parson  on  the  wrong  side  of  forty,  you 
rascal  I ” 

The  latter  question,  your  honor  can  best  answer,” 
returned  Job.  ‘'With  regard  to  the  former,  I have  an 
unguent  here,  if  you  will  suffer  me  to  apply  it,  which  will 
remove  all  other  colors  than  those  which  nature  has  be- 
stowed upon  you.” 

With  that.  Job  produced  a small  box  ; and,  after  a 
brief  submission  to  his  skill,  I had  the  ineffable  joy  of 
beholding  myself  restored  to  my  original  state.  Never- 


320 


PELHAM;  OR, 


theless,  my  delight  was  somewliat  checked  by  the  loss  of 
rny  curls  : I thanked  Heaven,  however,  that  the  damage 
had  been  sustained  after  Ellen’s  acceptation  of  my  ad 
dresses.  A lover  confined  to  one,  should  not  be  toa 
destructive,  for  fear  of  the  consequences  to  the  remainder 
of  the  female  world:  — compassion  is  ever  due  to  the 
fair  sex. 

My  toilet  being  concluded,  Jonson  and  I repaired  to 
the  magistrate’s.  He  waited  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
while  I entered  the  house  — 

“’Twere  vain  to  tell  what  shook  the  holy  Man, 

Who  looked,  not  lovingly,  at  that  divan.” 

Having  summoned  to  my  aid  the  redoubted  Mr.  

of  mulberry-cheeked  recollection,  we  entered  a hackney- 
coach,  and  drove  to  Jonsoii’s  lodgings.  Job  mounting 
guard  on  the  box. 

I think,  sir,”  said  Mr.  , looking  up  at  the  man 

of  two  virtues,  “that  I have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
that  gentleman  before.” 

“ Yery  likely,”  said  I;  “he  is  a young  man  greatly 
about  town.” 

When  we  had  safely  lodged  Dawson  (who  seemed  more 
collected,  and  even  courageous,  than  I had  expected)  in 
the  coach.  Job  beckone^d  me  into  a little  parlor.  I signed 
nim  a draft  on  my  bankers  for  one  hundred  pounds  — 
though  at  that  time  it  was  like  letting  the  last  drop  from 
my  veins — and  faithfully  promised,  should  Dawson’s  evi- 
dence procure  the  desired  end  (of  which,  indeed,  there 
was  now  no  doubt,)  that  the  annuity  should  be  regularly 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  321 

paid,  as  he  desired.  We  then  took  an  affectionate  fare- 
well of  each  other. 

“Adieu,  sir  !”  said  Job,  “I  depart  into  a new  world 
— that  of  honest  men  ! 

“If  so,”  said  I,  “adieu  indeed  ! — for  on  this  earth  we 
shall  never  meet  again  ! ” 

We  returned  to Street.  As  I was  descending 

from  the  coach,  a female,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
cloak,  came  eagerly  up  to  me,  and  seized  me  by  the  arm. 
“For  God’s  sake,”  said  she,  in  a low,  hurried  voice, 
“come  aside,  and  speak  to  me  for  a single  moment.” 
Consigning  Dawson  to  the  sole  charge  of  the  officer,  I 
did  as  I was  desired.  When  we  had  got  some  paces 
down  the  street,  the  female  stopped.  Though  she  held 
her  veil  closely  drawn  over  her  face,  her  voice  and  air 
were  not  to  be  mistaken  : I knew  her  at  once.  “ Glan- 
ville,”  said  she,  with  great  agitation,  “ Sir  Reginald 
Glanville  ; tell  me,  is  he  in  real  danger  ?”  She  stopped 
short  — she  could  say  no  more. 

“ I trust  not  !”  said  I,  appearing  not  to  recognize  the 
speaker. 

“ I trust  not ! ” she  repeated  ; “ is  that  all  ! ” And  then 
the  passionate  feelings  of  her  sex  overcoming  every  other 
consideration,  she  seized  me  by  the  hand,  and  said — “ Oh, 
Mr,  Pelham,  for  mercy’s  sake,  tell  me,  is  he  in  the  power 
of  that  villain  Thornton  ? You  need  disguise  nothing 
from  me  ; I know  all  the  fatal  history.” 

“ Compose  yourself,  dear,  dear  Lady  Roseville,”  said  T, 
soothingly;  “for  it  is  in  vain  any  longer  to  affect  not  to 


325 


PELHAM;  OR 


know  you.  Glanville  is  safe  ; I have  brought  with  me  a 
witness  whose  testimony  must  release  him.’’ 

“ God  bless  you,  God  bless  you  1 said  Lady  Roseville, 
and  she  burst  into  tears  ; but  she  dried  them  directly,  and 
recovering  some  portion  of  that  dignity  which  never  long 
forsakes  a woman  of  virtuous  and  educated  mind,  she 
resumed,  proudly,  yet  bitterly — “ It  is  no  ordinary  motive, 
no  motive  which  you  might  reasonably  impute  to  me,  that 
has  brought  me  here.  Sir  Reginald  Glanville  can  never 
be  anything  more  to  me  than  a friend— but,  of  all  friends, 
the  most  known  and  valued.  I learned  from  his  servant 
of  his  disappearance  ; and  my  acquaintance  with  his  secret 
history  enabled  me  to  account  for  it  in  the  most  fearful 
manner.  In  short,  I — I — but  explanations  are  idle  now  ; 
you  will  never  say  that  you  have  seen  me  here,  Mr.  Pel- 
ham : you  will  endeavor  even  to  forget  it  — farewell.” 

Lady  Roseville,  then  drawing  her  cloak  closely  round 
her,  left  me  with  a fleet  and  light  step,  and,  turning  the 
corner  of  the  street,  disappeared. 

I returned  to  my  charge : I demanded  an  immediate 
interview  with  the  magistrate.  “ I have  come,”  said  I, 
**  to  redeem  my  pledge,  and  procure  the  acquittal  of  the 
innocent.”  I then  briefly  related  my  adventures,  only 
concealing  (according  to  my  promise)  all  description  of 
my  helpmate.  Job ; and  prepared  the  worthy  magistrate 
for  the  confession  and  testimony  of  Dawson.  That  un- 
happy man  had  just  concluded  his  narration,  when  an 
officer  entered,  and  whispered  the  magistrate  that  Thorn- 
ton was  in  waiting. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  32S 


^^Admit  said  Mr. , aloud.  Thornton  entered 

«vith  his  usual  easy  and  swaggering  air  of  effrontery : but 
no  sooner  did  he  set  his  eyes  upon  Dawson,  than  a deadly 
and  withering  change  passed  over  his  countenance.  Daw- 
son could  not  bridle  the  cowardly  petulance  of  his  spite 
“ They  know  all,  Thornton  ! said  he,  with  a look  of 
triumph.  The  villain  turned  slowly  from  him  to  us,  mut- 
tering something  we  could  not  hear.  He  saw  upon  my 
face,  upon  the  magistrate’s,  that  his  doom  was  sealed  : 
his  desperation  gave  him  presence  of  mind,  and  he  made 
a sudden  rush  to  the  door  ; — the  officers  in  w^aiting  seized 
him.  Why  should  I detail  the  rest  of  the  scene  ? He 
w^as  that  day  fully  committed  for  trial,  and  Sir  Reginald 
Glanville  honorably  released,  and  unhesitatingly  ac- 
quitted. 


CHAPTER  LXXXY. 

Un  hymen  qu’on  souhaite 
Entre  les  gens  conime  nous  est  chose  bient6t-faite, 

Je  te  veux ; me  veux-tu  de  meme  ? — Molierb. 

So  may  he  rest,  his  faults  lie  gently  on  him. 

Shakspeabb. 

The  main  interest  of  my  adventures — if,  indeed,  I may 
flatter  myself  that  they  ever  contained  any — is  now  over  ; 
the  mystery  is  explained,  the  innocent  acquitted,  and  the 
guilty  condemned.  Moreover,  all  obstacles  between  the 
marriage  of  the  unworthy  hero  with  the  peerless  heroine 


324 


PELHAM;  OR, 


being  removed,  it  would  be  but  an  idle  prolixity  to  linger 
over  the  preliminary  details  of  an  orthodox  and  customary 
courtship.  Nor  is  it  for  me  to  dilate  upon  the  exagger- 
ated expressions  of  gratitude,  in  which  the  affectionate 
heart  of  Glanville  found  vent  for  my  fortunate  exertions 
on  his  behalf.  He  was  not  willing  that  any  praise  to 
which  I might  be  entitled  for  them,  should  be  lost.  He 
narrated  to  Lady  Glanville  and  Ellen  ray  adventures  with 
the  comrades  of  the  worthy  Job  ; from  the  lips  of  the 
mother,  and  the  eyes  of  the  dear  sister,  came  my  sweetest 
addition  to  the  good  fortune  which  had  made  me  the  in- 
strument of  Glanville’s  safety  and  acquittal.  I was  not 
condemned  to  a long  protraction  of  that  time,  which,  if 
it  be  justly  termed  the  happiest  of  our  lives,  we,  (viz.  all 
true  lovers,)  through  that  perversity  common  to  human 
nature,  most  ardently  wish  to  terminate. 

On  that  day  month  which  saw  Glanville’s  release,  my 
bridals  were  appointed.  Reginald  was  even  more  eager 
than  myself  in  pressing  for  an  early  day  ; firmly  persuaded 
that  his  end  was  rapidly  approaching,  his  most  prevailing 
desire  was  to  witness  our  union.  This  wdsh,  and  the  in- 
terest he  took  in  our  happiness,  gave  him  an  energy  and 
animation  which  impressed  us  with  the  deepest  hopes  for 
his  ultimate  recovery  ; and  the  fatal  disease  to  which  he 
was  a prey,  nursed  the  fondness  of  our  hearts  by  the  bloom 
of  cheek,  and  brightness  of  eye,  with  which  it  veiled  its 
desolating  and  gathering  progress. 

From  the  eventful  day  on  which  I had  seen  Lady  Rose- 
ville, in Street,  we  had  not  met.  She  had  shut  her- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  325 

self  up  in  her  splendid  home,  and  the  newspapers  teemed 
with  regret  at  the  reported  illness  and  certain  seclusion 
of  one  whose  fetes  and  gayeties  had  furnished  them  with 
their  brightest  pages.  The  only  one  admitted  to  her  was 
Ellen.  To  her,  she  had  for  some  time  made  no  secret  of 
her  attachment — and  from  her  the  daily  news  of  Sir  Regi- 
iiald’s  health  was  ascertained.  Several  times,  when  at  a 
late  hour  I left  Glanville’s  apartments,  I passed  the  figure 
of  a woman,  closely  muffled,  and  apparently  watching  be- 
fore his  windows  — which,  owing  to  the  advance  of  sum- 
mer, were  never  closed  — to  catch,  perhaps,  a view  of  his 
room,  or  a passing  glimpse  of  his  emaciated  and  fading 
figure.  If  that  sad  and  lonely  vigil  was  kept  by  her  whom 
I suspected,  deep,  indeed,  and  mighty  was  the  love,  which 
could  so  humble  the  heart,  and  possess  the  spirit,  of  the 
haughty  and  high-born  Countess  of  Roseville  ! 

I turn  to  a very  different  personage  in  this  veritable 
hisfoire.  My  father  and  mother  were  absent  at  Lady 
H.’s  when  my  marriage  was  fixed  ; to  both  of  them  I 
wrote  for  their  approbation  of  my  choice.  From  Lady 
Frances  I received  the  answer  which  I subjoin  : — 

My  Dearest  Son, 

‘‘Your  father  desires  me  to  add  his  congratulations  to 
mine,  upon  the  election  you  have  made.  I shall  haster. 
to  London,  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony.  Although 
you  must  not  be  offended  with  me,  if  I say,  that  with 
your  person,  accomplishments,  birth,  and  (above  all)  high 
ton,  you  might  have  chosen  among  the  loftiest  and  wealth- 
iest families  in  the  country ; yet  I am  by  no  means  dis- 
II.  - 28 


326 


PELHAM;  OR, 


pleased  or  disappointed  with  your  future  wife.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  antiquity  of  her  name  (the  Glanvilles  in- 
termarried with  the  Pelhams,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.), 
it  is  a great  step  to  future  distinction  to  marry  a beauty, 
especially  one  so  celebrated  as  Miss  Glanville  — perhaps 
it  is  among  the  surest  ways  to  the  cabinet.  The  forty 
thousand  pounds  which  you  say  Miss  Glanville  is  to  re- 
ceive, make,  to  be  sure,  but  a slender  income ; though, 
when  added  to  your  own  fortune,  that  sum  in  ready  money 
would  have  been  a great  addition  to  the  Glen  morris  prop- 
erty, if  your  uncle  — I have  no  patience  with  him  — had 
not  married  again. 

However,  you  will  lose  no  time  in  getting  into  the 
House  — at  all  events  the  capital  will  insure  your  return 
for  a borough,  and  maintain  you  comfortably  till  you  are 
in  the  administration  ; when  of  course  it  matters  very 
little  what  your  fortune  may  be  — tradesmen  will  be  too 
happy  to  have  your  name  in  their  books ; be  sure,  there- 
fore, that  the  money  is  not  tied  up.  Miss  Glanville  must 
see  that  her  own  interest,  as  well  as  yours,  is  concerned 
in  your  having  the  unfettered  disposal  of  a fortune  which, 
if  restricted,  you  would  find  it  impossible  to  live  upon. 
Pray,  how  is  Sir  Reginald  Glanville  ? Is  his  cough  as 
bad  as  ever  ? By  the  by,  how  is  his  property  entailed  ? 

“ Will  you  order  Stonor  to  have  the  house  ready  for 
us  on  Friday,  when  I shall  return  home  in  time  for  din- 
ner ? Let  me  again  congratulate  you,  most  sincerely,  on 
your  choice.  I always  thought  you  had  more  common 
sense,  as  well  as  genius,  than  any  young  man  I ever 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  32? 

knew : you  have  shown  it  in  this  important  step,  do- 
mestic happiness,  my  dearest  Henry,  ought  to  be  pecu- 
liarly sought  for  by  every  Englishman,  however  elevated 
his  station ; and  when  I reflect  upon  Miss  Glanville’s  qual 
ifications,  and  her  celebrity  as  a beauty,  I have  no  doubt 
of  your  possessing  the  felicity  you  deserve.  But  be  sure 
that  the  fortune  is  not  settled  away  from  you  ; poor  Sir 
Reginald  is  not  (I  believe)  at  all  covetous  or  worldly,  and 
will  not,  therefore,  insist  upon  the  point. 

God  bless  you,  and  grant  you  every  happiness. 

“ Ever,  my  dear  Henry, 

Your  very  affectionate  Mother, 

'‘F.  Pelham.’^ 

P.  S. — I think  it  will  be  better  to  give  out  that  Miss 
Glanville  has  eighty  thousand  pounds.  Be  sure,  there- 
fore, that  you  do  not  contradict  me.’^ 

The  days,  the  weeks  flew  away.  Ah,  happy  days  ! yet 
I not  regret  while  I recall  you  ! He  that  loves  much, 
fea  ; even  in  his  best-founded  hopes.  What  were  the 
an Yious  longings  for  a treasure  — in  my  view  only,  not  in 
my  possession  — to  the  deep  joy  of  finding  it  forever  my 
own. 

The  day  arrived — I was  yet  at  my  toilet,  and  Bedos  in 
the  g-eatest  confusion  ; — (poor  fellow,  he  was  as  happy 
as  m3  self!)  when  a letter  was  brought  me,  stamped  with 
the  foreign  post  mark.  It  was  from  the  exemplary  Job 
Jonso^,  and  though  I did  not  even  open  it  on  that  day, 
vet  it  shall  be  more  favored  by  the  reader  — viz.,  if  he 
2t 


tS25  PELHAM;  OR, 

tvill  not  pass  over,  without  reading,  the  following  effu- 
siou  : — 

“ Rue  des  Moulins,  No.  — , Paris. 

“ Honored  Sir, 

“ I arrived  in  Paris  safely,  and  reading  in  the  English 
papers  the  full  success  of  our  enterprise,  as  well  as  in  the 
Morning  Post  of  the  — th,  your  approaching  marriage 
wdth  Miss  Glanville,  I cannot  refrain  from  the  liberty  of 
congratulating  you  upon  both,^as  well  as  of  reminding 
you  of  the  exact  day  on  which  the  first  quarter  of  my 
annuity  will  be  due  : — it  is  the of ; for  I pre- 

sume your  honor  kindly  made  me  a present  of  the  draft 
for  one  hundred  pounds,  in  order  to  pay  my  travelling 
expenses. 

I find  that  the  boys  are  greatly  incensed  against  me ; 
but  as  Dawson  was  too  much  bound  by  his  oath  to  be- 
tray a tittle  against  them,  I trust  I shall  ultimately  pacify 
the  club,  and  return  to  England.  A true  patriot,  sir, 
never  loves  to  leave  his  native  country.  Even  were  I 
compelled  to  visit  Yan  Diemen’s  Land,  the  ties  of  birth- 
place would  be  so  strong  as  to  induce  me  to  seize  the  first 
opportunity  of  returning  I I am  not,  your  honor,  very 
fond  of  the  French  — they  are  an  idle,  frivolous,  penu- 
rious, poor  nation.  Only  think,  sir,  the  other  day  I saw 
a gentleman  of  the  most  noble  air  secrete  something  at 
a cafOy  which  I could  not  clearly  discern  : as  he  wTapped 
it  carefully  in  paper,  before  he  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  I 
judged  tha^  it  was  a silver  cream-ewer  at  least ; accord- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN.  32i 

ingly,  I followed  him  out,  and  from  pure  curiosity— I do 
assure  your  honor,  it  was  from  no  other  motive — I trans- 
ferred this  purloined  treasure  to  my  own  pocket.  You 
will  imagine,  sir,  the  interest  with  which  I hastened  to  a 
lonely  spot  in  the  Tuileries,  and  carefully  taking  out  the 
little  packet,  unfolded  paper  by  paper,  till  I came  to — yes, 
sir,  till  I came  to — five  lumps  of  sugar  ! Oh,  the  French 
are  a mean  people — a very  mean  people — I hope  I shall 
soon  be  able  to  return  to  England.  Meanwhile,  I am 
going  into  Holland,  to  see  how  those  rich  burghers  spend 
their  time  and  their  money.  I suppose  poor  Dawson,  as 
well  as  the  rascal  Thornton,  will  be  hung  before  you  rc 
ceive  this — they  deserve  it  richly — it  is  such  fellows  wL> 
disgrace  the  profession.  He  is  but  a very  poo-r  bungler 
who  is  forced  to  cut  throats  as  well  as  pockets.  And 
now,  your  honor,  wishing  you  all  happiness  with  your 
lady, 

I beg  to  remain. 

Your  very  obedient  humble  servant, 
'‘Ferdinand  de  Courcy,  &c.  &c.’^ 

Struck  with  the  joyous  countenance  of  my  honest  valet, 
as  I took  my  gloves  and  hat  from  his  hand,  I could  not 
help  wishing  to  bestow  upon  him  a blessing  similar  to 
that  I was  about  to  possess.  “Bedos,^’  said  I,  “ Bedos, 
my  good  fellow,  you  left  your  wife  to  come  to  me  ; you 
shall  not  suffer  by  your  fidelity  : send  for  her — we  will 
hnd  room  for  her  in  our  future  establishment.^’ 

The  smiling  face  of  the  Frenchman  underwent  a rapid 


28* 


330 


PELHAM;  OR, 


change.  *Ma  /biV’  said  he,  in  his  own  tongue;  “Mon- 
sieur is  too  good.  An  excess  of  happiness  hardens  the 
heart ; and  so,  for  fear  of  forgetting  my  gratitude  to 
Providence,  I will,  with  Monsieur’s  permission,  suffer  my 
adored  wife  to  remain  w’here  she  is.” 

After  so  pious  a reply,  I should  have  been  worse  than 
wicked  had  I pressed  the  matter  any  farther. 

I found  all  ready  at  Berkeley-square.  Lady  Glanville 
is  one  of  those  good  persons  who  think  a marriage  out 
of  church  is  no  marriage  at  all ; to  church,  therefore,  we 
went.  Although  Reginald  w^as  now  so  reduced  that  he 
could  scarcely  support  the  least  fatigue,  he  insisted  on 
giving  Ellen  away.  He  was  that  morning,  and  had  been 
for  the  last  two  or  three  days,  considerably  better,  and 
our  happiness  seemed  to  grow  less  selfish  in  our  increasing 
hope  of  his  recovery. 

When  we  returned  from  church,  our  intention  was  to 

set  off  immediately  to  Hall,  a seat  which  I had 

hired  for  our  reception.  On  re-entering  the  house,  Glan- 
ville called  me  aside — I followed  his  infirm  and  tremulous 
steps  into  a private  apartment. 

“ Pelham,”  said  he,  “ we  shall  never  meet  again  ! No 
matter  — you  are  now  happy,  and  I shall  shortly  be  so. 
But  there  is  one  office  I have  yet  to  request  from  your 
friendship ; when  I am  dead,  let  me  be  buried  by  her 
side,  and  let  one  tombstone  cover  both.” 

I pressed  his  hand,  and,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  made 
him  the  promise  he  required. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


It  is  enough,’^  said  he  ; I have  no  farther  business 
with  life.  God  bless  you,  my  friend,  my  brother;  do  not 
let  a thought  of  me  cloud  your  happiness.” 

He  rose,  and  we  turned  to  quit  the  room  ; Glanville 
was  leaning  on  my  arm ; when  he  had  moved  a few  paces 
towards  the  door,  he  stopped  abruptly.  Imagining  that 
the  pause  proceeded  from  pain  or  debility,  I turned  my 
eyes  upon  his  countenance  — a fearful  and  convulsive 
change  was  rapidly  passing  over  it  — his  eyes  stared 
wildly  upon  vacancy. 

Merciful  God — is  it  — can  it  be  ? ” he  said,  in  a low, 
inward  tone. 

Before  I could  speak,  I felt  his  hand  relax  its  grasp 
upon  my  arm  — he  fell  upon  the  floor  — I raised  him  — a 
smile  of  ineffable  serenity  and  peace  was  upon  his  lips ; 
his  face  was  the  face  of  an  angel,  but  the  spirit  had  passed 
away  I 


.^32 


PELHAM;  OR, 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

Now  haveth  good  day,  good  men  all, 

Haveth  good  day,  yong  and  old; 

Haveth  good  day,  both  great  and  small, 

And  graunt  merci  a thousand  fold! 

Gif  ever  I might  full  fain  I wold, 

Don  ought  that  were  unto  your  leve, 

Christ  keep  you  out  of  car^s  cold, 

For  now  ’tis  time  to  take  my  leave.  — Old  Sonyr, 

Several  months  have  now  elapsed  since  my  marriage. 
I am  living  quietly  in  the  country,  among  my  books,  and 
'ooking  forward  with  calmness,  rather  than  impatience, 
to  the  time  which  shall  again  bring  me  before  the  world. 
Marriage  with  me  is  not  that  sepulchre  of  all  human 
lope  and  energy  which  it  often  is  with  others.  I am  not 
more  partial  to  my  arm-chair,  nor  more  averse  to  shav- 
ing, than  of  yore.  I do  not  bound  my  prospects  to  the 
dinner-hour,  nor  my  projects  to  “ migrations  from  the 
blue  bed  to  the  brown.”  Matrimony  found  me  ambi- 
tious : it  has  not  cured  me  of  the  passion  : but  it  has 
concentrated  what  was  scattered,  and  determined  what 
was  vague.  If  I am  less  anxious  than  formerly  for  the 
reputation  to  be  acquired  in  society,  I am  more  eager  for 
honor  in  the.world  ; and  instead  of  amusing  my  enemies 
and  the  saloon,  I trust  yet  to  be  useful  to  my  friends  and 
to  mankind. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


833 


Whether  this  is  a hope  altogether  vain  and  idle  ; whe* 
ther  I have,  in  the  self-conceit  common  to  all  men,  (thou 
wilt  perchance  add,  peculiarly  prominent  in  myself!)  over- 
rated both  the  power  and  the  integrity  of  my  mind  (for  the 
one  is  bootless  without  the  other,)  neither  I nor  the  world 
can  yet  tell.  Time, says  one  of  the  fathers,  “is  the 
only  touchstone  which  distinguishes  the  prophet  from  the 
boaster.’^ 

Meanwhile,  gentle  reader,  during  the  two  years  which 
I purpose  devoting  to  solitude  and  study,  I shall  not  be 
so  occupied  with  my  fields  and  folios,  as  to  become  un- 
courteous  to  thee.  If  ever  thou  hast  known  me  in  the  city, 
I give  thee  a hearty  invitation  to  come  and  visit  me  in  the 
country.  I promise  thee  that  my  wines  and  viands  shall 
not  disgrace  the  companion  of  Guloseton  ; nor  my  con- 
versation be  much  duller  than  my  book.  I will  compli- 
ment thee  on  thy  horses,  — thou  shalt  congratulate  me 
upon  ray  wife.  Over  old  wine  we  will  talk  over  new 
events ; and,  if  we  flag  at  the  latter,  why,  we  will  make 
ourselves  amends  with  the  former.  In  short,  if  thou  art 
neither  very  silly  nor  very  wise,  it  shall  be  thine  own  fault 
if  we  are  not  excellent  friends. 

I feel  that  it  would  be  but  poor  courtesy  in  me,  after 
having  kept  company  with  Lord  Yincent  through  the 
tedious  journey  of  these  pages,  to  dismiss  him  now  with- 
out one  word  of  valediction.  May  he,  in  the  political 
course  he  has  adopted,  find  all  the  admiration  wliich  his 
talents  deserve  3 and  if  ever  we  meet  as  foes,  let  our 


B34  PELHAM;  OR, 

heaviest  weapon  be  a quotation,  and  our  bitterest  ven- 
geance a jest. 

Lord  Guloseton  regularly  corresponds  with  rae,  and 
his  last  letter  contained  a promise  to  visit  me  in  the 
course  of  the  month,  in  order  to  recover  his  appetite 
(which  has  been  much  relaxed  of  late)  by  the  country 
air. 

My  uncle  wrote  to  me,  three  weeks  since,  announcing 
the  death  of  the  infant  Lady  Glenmorris  had  brought 
him.  Sincerely  do  I wish  that  his  loss  may  be  supplied. 
I have  already  sufficient  fortune  for  my  wants,  and  suffi- 
cient hope  for  my  desires. 

Thornton  died  as  he  had  lived — the  reprobate  and  the 
ruffian.  Pooh,”  said  he,  in  his  quaint  brutality,  to  the 
worthy  clergyman  who  attended  his  last  moments  with 
more  zeal  than  success  ; Pooh,  what ’s  the  difference 
between  gospel  and  go  — spell  ? we  agree  like  a bell  and 
its  clapper — you  ’re  prating  while  I ’m  hanging. 

Dawson  died  in  prison,  penitent  and  in  peace.  Cow- 
ardice, which  spoils  the  honest  man,  often  redeems  the 
knave. 

From  Lord  Dawton  T have  received  a letter,  request- 
ing me  to  accept  a borough  (in  his  gift),  just  vacated. 
It  is  a pity  that  generosity  — such  a prodigal  to  those 
who  do  not  want  it  — should  often  be  such  a niggard  to 
those  who  do.  I need  not  specify  my  answer.  I hope 
yet  to  teach  Lord  Dawton,  that  to  forgive  the  minister 
is  not  to  forget  the  affront.  Meanwhile,  I am  content  to 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN 


335 


bury  myself  in  my  retreat,  with  my  mute  teachers  of  log'ic 
and  legislature,  in  order,  hereafter,  to  justify  his  lordship’s 
good  opinion  of  my  abilities.  Farewell,  Brutus,  we  shah 
meet  at  Philippi  ! 

It  is  some  months  since  Lady  Roseville  left  England  ; 
the  last  news  we  received  of  her,  informed  us  that  she 
was  living  at  Sienna,  in  utter  seclusion,  and  very  infirm 
health. 

“The  day  drags  thro’,  though  storms  keep  out  the  sun, 

And  thus  the  heart  will  break,  yet  brokenly  live  on.” 

Poor  Lady  Glanville  ! the  mother  of  one  so  beautiful, 
so  gifted,  and  so  lost.  What  can  I say  of  her  which 
“you,  and  you,  and  you ” all  who  are  parents,  can- 

not feel,  a thousand  times  more  acutely,  in  those  recesses 
of  the  heart  too  deep  for  vords  or  tears.  There  are  yet 
many  hours  in  which  I fiird  the  sister  of  the  departed  in 

grief  that  even  her  husband  cannot  console:  and  I 

/ my  friend,  my  brother,  have  I forgotten  thee  in 

death  ? I laydown  the  pen,  I turn  from  my  employment 
— thy  dog  is  at  my  feet,  and  looking  at  me,  as  if  con- 
scious of  my  thoughts,  with  an  eye  almost  as  tearful  as 
my  own. 

But  it  is  not  thus  that  I will  part  from  my  Reader; 
our  greeting  was  not  in  sorrow,  neither  shall  be  our 
adieus.  For  thee,  who  hast  gone  with  me  through  the 
motley  course  of  my  confessions,  I would  fain  trust  that 
I have  sometimes  hinted  at  thy  instruction,  when  only 


336 


PELHAM;  OR, 


aj)pearing  to  strive  for  thy  aransement.  But  on  this  I 
will  not  dwell ; for  the  moral  insided  upon  often  loses 
its  effect ; and  all  that  I will  venture  to  hope  is,  that  I 
have  opened  to  thee  one  true,  and  not  utterly  hackneyed, 
page  in  the  various  and  mighty  volume  of  mankind.  In 
this  busy  and  restless  world  I have  not  been  a vague 
speculator,  nor  an  idle  actor.  While  all  around  me  were 
vigilant,  I have  not  laid  me  down  to  sleep — even  for  the 
luxury  of  a poet’s  dream.  Like  the  school-boy,  I have 
considered  study  as  study,  but  action  as  delight. 

Nevertheless,  whatever  I have  seen,  or  heard,  or  felt, 
has  been  treasured  in  my  memory,  and  brooded  over  by 
my  thoughts.  I now  place  the  result  before  you  — 

“ Sicut  mens  est  mos, 

Nescio  quid  meditaiis  nugarura  ; 

but  not  perhaps, 

“ totus  in  illis.”* 

Whatever  society — whether  in  a higher  or  lower  grade 
— I have  portrayed,  my  sketches  have  been  taken  rather 
as  a witness  than  a copyist ; for  I havef  never  shunned 
that  circle,  nor  that  individual,  which  presented  life  in  % 
fresh  view,  or  man  in  a new  relation.  It  is  right,  how- 
ever, that  I should  add,  that  as  I have  not  wished  to  be 
an  individual  satirist,  rather  than  a general  observer,  I 
have  occasionally,  in  the  subordinate  characters  (such  as 

* “According  to  my  custom,  meditating,  I scarcely  know  what 
of  trifles;  but  not,  perhaps,  wholly  wrapt  in  them.” 


ADVENTURES  OF  A GENTLEMAN. 


337 


Russelton  and  Gordon),  taken  only  the  outline  from  truth, 
and  filled  up  the  colors  at  my  leisure  and  my  will.* 

With  reprard  to  myself  I have  been  more  candid.  I 
have  not  only  shown  — non  pai'cd  manu  — my  faults,  but 
^grant  that  this  is  a much  rarer  exposure)  my  foibles; 
and,  in  my  anxiety  for  your  entertainment,  I have  not 
grudged  you  the  pleasure  of  a laugh  — even  at  my  own 
expense.  Forgive  me,  then,  if  I am  not  a fashionable 
hero  — forgive  me  if  I have  not  wept  over  a ^'  blighted 
spirit f nor  boasted  of  a “ British  heart;  and  allow  that 
a man  who,  in  these  days  of  alternate  Werters  and  Wor- 
thies, is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  is,  at  least,  a 
novelty  in  print,  though,  I fear,  common  enough  in  life. 

And  now,  my  kind  reader,  having  remembered  the  pro- 


* May  the  Author,  as  well  as  the  Hero,  be  permitted,  upon  this 
point,  to  solicit  attention  and  belief.  In  all  the  lesser  characters, 
of  which  the  first  idea  was  taken  from  life,  especially  those  referred 
to  in  the  text,  he  has,  for  reasons  perhaps  obvious  enough  without 
the  tedium  of  recital,  purposely  introduced  sufficient  variation  and 
addition  to  remove,  in  his  own  opinion,  the  odium  either  of  a copy 
or  of  a caricature.  The  Author  thinks  it  the  more  necessary  in  the 
preseM  edition  to  insist  upon  this,  with  all  honest  and  sincere 
earnestness,  because  in  the  first  it  was  too  much  the  custom  of 
criticism  to  judge  of  his  sketches  from  a resemblance  to  some  sup- 
posed originals,  and  not  from  adherence  to  that  sole  source  of  all 
legitimate  imitation — Nature; — Nature  as  exhibited  in  the  general 
mass,  not  in  the  isolated  instance.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  novelist 
rather  to  abstract  than  to  copy: — all  humors — all  individual  pecu- 
liarities are  his  appropriate  and  fair  materials:  not  so  are  the 
humorist  and  the  individual!  Observation  should  resemble  the 
eastern  bird,  and,  while  it  nourishes  itself  upon  the  suction  of  » 
thousand  flowers  never  be  seen  to  settle  upon  one! 

IT  —29 


338 


PELHAM;  OR, 


verb,  and  in  saying  one  word  to  thee  having  said  two  for 
myself,  I will  no  longer  detain  thee.  Whatever  thou 
mayest  think  of  me  and  my  thousand  faults,  both  as  an 
author  and  a man,  believe  me  it  is  with  a sincere  and 
affectionate  wish  for  the  accomplishment  of  my  parting: 
▼ Olds,  that  I bid  thee — farewell! 


THE  END. 


) 


